Capítulo 230: Chapter 367 - The Hard Stone is Also Sharp
367. The Hard Stone is Also Sharp
The moonlight illuminated the city brightly.
Even with the possibility of the Moonlight Beast appearing soon, Enkrid didn't rush. Instead, he walked at a steady, unhurried pace, the sound of his steps echoing softly.
As he strolled, occasionally glancing around, a few townsfolk lighting the tall lamps recognized him and called out.
"Where are you off to?"
A resident, glancing briefly at Enkrid's companions behind him, asked with curiosity.
"Just a night stroll."
A calm reply.
"That's dangerous, you know."
A familiar exchange ensued.
Watching this, Aishia's eyes darted back and forth between them in bewilderment.
Jaxen leaned over slightly and whispered nonchalantly.
"He's a fruit seller. Lately, he's been troubled because his daughter is getting married. Says the boy she's into is a womanizer, charming but trouble."
"…How do you even know that?"
"Just comes up when you chat."
Being that uninhibited was something Aishia considered her specialty, yet she found herself thinking, "Still, I doubt I could pull it off like that."
As they walked forward, Enkrid spoke up.
"Jaxen."
"If there's any commotion, I'll pinpoint it immediately."
At this, Aishia stole a glance at Jaxen.
He was precisely her type—a man with a serene demeanor, neatly shaped lips, and an appearance that could easily break many hearts.
But what intrigued her more was what he could do.
"That man's senses are extraordinary."
For three days, they'd done little else but eat, sleep, spar, and fight.
For Aishia, it had been an intense, thrilling experience.
Luagarne had mentioned it before: the people around Enkrid were all monsters.
Seen through the eyes of a Frog, it was bound to be accurate.
Though she'd known it, experiencing it firsthand made her truly grasp the reality.
They were all monsters.
If she had to summarize Jaxen's fighting style in one word, it would be calculation.
Though he had initially declared he wouldn't participate, Jaxen eventually picked up his sword a few times. While it wasn't the life-or-death dueling she had engaged in with Enkrid, it was enough to provide insights.
The way he fought—observing, calculating, and predicting—revealed an approach where everything unfolded within his mind as he anticipated the next move.
What allowed him to achieve this was his acute senses.
His sight and hearing were exceptional, a level honed through the rigorous training every squire underwent.
Becoming a knight wasn't an easy path, and Aishia herself, as a member of a knightly order, had gone through similar training.
Yet, even among junior knights, Jaxen's sensory acuity stood out.
"If you want to act a step ahead, you must first understand how your opponent's step will move."
A teaching from her master surfaced in her mind.
That's precisely what Jaxen did.
He predicted her sword and moved first.
Aishia's specialty, swordpoint targeting, couldn't even be fully executed against him.
Before she could initiate her technique, his blade would inevitably interrupt—
either striking at an angle to disrupt her stance or landing precisely to deflect her sword's trajectory.
"His skills are unique."
Still, Aishia believed she could win in a proper duel.
While his ability to predict and read the flow of battle was outstanding, the aura emanating from his longsword wasn't particularly overpowering.
Not being exceptional didn't diminish its lethality, of course.
"He's beatable."
That was Aishia's assessment.
If Jaxen was a calculated fighter, then Ragna was pure instinct.
The problem was that this instinct-driven monster's natural inclinations often turned out to be correct and led him down the right path.
"This guy…"
Ragna's sword reminded her painfully of the one that had once defeated her and forced her to reflect on her past.
In other words, he was a monster forged entirely of raw talent.
A calculating monster, a creature of pure instinct—both were formidable in their own ways.
Against Ragna, Aishia had never managed to secure a single victory.
"What is it?" she had once asked, frustrated.
"A fast and heavy sword."
His straightforward reply still annoyed her.
A fast and heavy sword, as if it were that simple.
But simplicity belonged to the realm of talent.
For Aishia, such simplicity was unattainable. Yet, she didn't wallow in envy. If she had, she would never have reached her current level.
"Does the bread in another's hands always seem bigger? There are plenty of people with skills far superior to yours."
Her master's teachings resurfaced again. The fact that this sparring session had left her with so many realizations spoke volumes.
"What I have is exceptional, too."
While others' strengths might appear more desirable, the key was to overcome them with her own.
Resentment of talent and despair over limitations had no place in Aishia's journey. She had too much of her own to lean on.
"When the heart falters, the will crumbles; when the will crumbles, the sword shatters."
She repeated this mantra to keep jealousy as nothing more than fuel for growth—her secret to steady improvement.
And then there was Rem.
Looking at him, she found herself wondering:
"Is he a madman or a mad genius?"
Both, it seemed.
If Jaxen was a calculated monster and Ragna a bundle of instinctual talent, Rem was something entirely different.
"What do you think? Hard to block, isn't it?"
He lived for fun. His fighting style had no set pattern. Most of his techniques were improvised on the spot.
Even when he used familiar techniques, they bore the same chaotic, unpredictable energy—
erratic and aggressive.
While Ragna's instincts led him down the optimal path, Rem's whimsical nature veered toward pure enjoyment.
It was, of course, another form of talent.
But in Rem's case, his experience was also layered onto his natural gifts.
Rem was the kind of savage who made nonsensical movements seem plausible, all for the sake of fun. That was Rem.
"How's this?"
The most remarkable among his techniques was the way he countered a thrust aimed directly at her sword tip.
What could you even call it?
Axe Edge Guard? Axe Blade Shield?
He had deflected the tip of a blade by guarding it with the flat edge of his sword as though it were an axe blade. With that, he nullified and killed the momentum entirely—a bold and unconventional maneuver. As he used this technique to close the distance, the thought arose:
"Terrifying, wasn't it?"
There's nothing scarier than a lunatic. While a brute might be formidable, a madman who seemed willing to accept a blade piercing his own flesh just for amusement was something else entirely.
But was Rem the most astonishing one?
No. Enkrid remained.
"Intriguing, utterly fascinating."
There was something indescribably unique about Enkrid.
"He's like a stone meticulously compressed and molded over time."
His foundation was not just solid—it was unyielding. Yet this didn't detract from his flexibility. His swordsmanship seemed like the result of repeating fundamental motions tens of thousands of times, ingraining them so deeply they became flawless.
It was like crafting a clay pot through endless iterations, perfecting it until it became unbreakable. That's what made it so impressive.
Most fighters take their natural talents and develop unique techniques from a strong foundation. They refine their skills and expand upon what they're naturally good at.
"A process driven by talent."
But Enkrid was different.
If he didn't fully understand one step, he couldn't progress. His path wasn't one smoothed by innate gifts. Instead, it was as if he had painstakingly carved his way forward, breaking down each barrier through relentless effort.
He seemed like someone who had encountered countless limits, crashed into them over and over, and yet, ultimately shattered and transcended them.
But limits eat away at people. They sap willpower, sow seeds of surrender, and offer despair in exchange.
"And he overcame all that?"
No, surely that was a misconception.
So how did he reach his current level?
It was a question that defied comprehension.
But one thing was certain.
"An unyielding desire to improve no matter the cost—that must be his foundation."
Even at a glance, his tenacity was palpable, a quiet madness that pushed him forward even in the face of death.
Even during sparring matches, he never ceased to train his body.
When Enkrid had Dunbakel throw a stone into his side to toughen his endurance, Aishia could only shake her head in disbelief.
Not even the knights' training included such extreme measures. It was more akin to watching a monk split boulders with bare hands as a meditative act.
Every aspect of his training exuded that quiet, unsettling madness.
And the others in the group? They, too, had skills and talents far beyond ordinary.
Were they exceptional? That wasn't clear.
But one thing piqued her curiosity:
"Where in the world did they gather such people?"
If Aishia knew that this group had been thrown together by a former Border Guard commander who was left to fend for himself, she wouldn't have been able to hide her astonishment.
Regardless, there was no doubt about one thing—they were extraordinary in their own ways.
As she organized her thoughts, they reached a crossroads with alleys branching in all directions.
"Let's split up here," Enkrid said beside her.
The dimly lit area bordered the slums and was also home to some of the crime guilds.
"Here?" Aishia asked.
"Here," Enkrid confirmed.
"Why?"
"I'll explain as we go."
"Aishia, you're with me. Ragna, go with Dunbakel. Jaxen and Rem..... split up."
She didn't need much time to understand.
Leaving those two together would only cause problems. Even after spending a few days with them, she was sure of it.
Ragna could get lost even while walking around a mansion.
"If anyone loses track, they're an idiot, a fool, a moron!"
Ragna hummed bizarre lyrics to an equally strange tune as he wandered into one of the alleys.
"Well, then."
Enkrid moved first, stepping into the darkness of the alley. He grabbed the edge of a wall and climbed effortlessly, even as some rooftops were nothing more than crude thatches of wood and straw, while others were coated in sturdy plaster.
In the fortified city, residential areas were typically crammed together unless it was a high-end district.
The roofs of the houses were so close that, with a good sense of balance, it was possible to move across them freely.
Some buildings were taller than others, making a fall potentially bone-breaking, but Enkrid didn't climb to those heights. He simply settled on a sturdy rooftop.
"Why here?"
Aishia asked again, her curiosity piqued.
This wasn't her duty as a knight, nor was it part of any oath she had sworn, but a task was still a task. Success was preferable to failure—lives were at stake, and ensuring the safety of the citizens was paramount.
To that end, she needed answers to respond effectively.
"Understanding their habits makes it easier to figure them out," Enkrid explained, elaborating further. Aishia found herself nodding along without even realizing it.
"They only appear on moonlit nights, which suggests it's like a madness beyond their control."
It made sense. Like madness, it was unmanageable, and its uncontrollable nature left traces behind.
"If they could control themselves completely, they wouldn't be causing such a commotion."
That made sense as well.
If Aishia herself had to secretly kill someone, what would she do?
She'd pick a target, study their movements, and strike in an isolated location. Even without resorting to assassination techniques, that would be the easiest way.
The victims so far, excluding one priest, were all commoners—one in the slums, three in residential areas.
Enkrid had shared this information with her, his findings based on thorough investigation.
"The rain that fell for days likely intensified their madness, and if moonlight influences them, the full moon would stir powerful desires within them."
It wasn't a flawless conclusion, but it was plausible.
"If I were afflicted by such madness and aware of it, I'd try to fulfill my desires as far from my own dwelling as possible."
This implied Enkrid had already narrowed down the suspect's location.
The area farthest from the slum residences?
Eysia's gaze instinctively turned toward the city center, beyond the moonlight.
The inner city wall marked where the royal palace stood. Nearby lived nobles who couldn't stay within the palace grounds.
"Uncontrollable desires would cause commotion, so they'd need to divert suspicion."
Enkrid's explanation concluded, and Aishia accepted it with chills running down her spine.
"When did you figure all this out?"
"I've been wandering around the city these past few days, piecing things together from what I've heard."
Why was this stone, trodden upon and toughened, also so sharp?
Aishia's eyes were filled with both wonder and astonishment as Enkrid nonchalantly shifted his gaze.
He'd simply gathered information during trips to the market—tidbits from merchants, guards, woodsmen, and even bards.
Aishia hadn't noticed because she hadn't been paying attention.
Had she truly been involved in this case, she might have learned as much, but she hadn't bothered to consider how many commoners and victims there were.
A squire's death had prompted a junior knight's involvement, but the royal palace was too preoccupied with internal conflicts to treat the Moonlight Beast as more than a secondary issue.
Enkrid had assumed no one would conduct a proper investigation and had taken it upon himself to uncover the truth.
From the first victim to the growing number of casualties, he pieced together the details, relying on rumors that had spread like wildfire.
A fruit vendor, a blacksmith, a gambler's guard, a lumberjack, a poet, a librarian, a tavern maid, a noble's escort—their words were woven into a tapestry of deductions.
A monk's testimony proved decisive.
"The creature was wearing clothes—a coat that looked quite expensive. It ignored me completely and went straight for the priest, even with the moonlight at its back."
This pointed to a creature driven by bloodlust yet capable of rational decisions. Predicting its movements became easier.
Unlike beasts or monsters that acted on instinct, humans had reason. If the suspect was thinking and moving intentionally, those thoughts could be discerned.
Neutralize the holy threat first, then stir chaos far from their own territory.
It was unlikely that a human-turned-monster would have stolen and donned a fine coat. It was more plausible they had been wearing it beforehand.
Based on how the rumors suddenly ceased, it was likely they had stripped completely before transforming.
Jaxen suspected a lycanthrope.
Enkrid had come to a similar conclusion.
And then—
A mournful sound echoed, resembling the cry of a night bird.
It came from the direction Ragna had taken earlier.
"Let's go," Enkrid said, finally moving. Aishia followed close behind.
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