Chương 60: Chapter 225 - Unwavering Eyes
"Line up!"
It seemed Enkrid wasn't the only one enjoying this situation as Krais boldly stepped forward, shouting without hesitation upon seeing Enkrid arrive.
Yet the others' gazes never wavered from Enkrid. Their eyes seemed to hold questions.
Enkrid instinctively met each gaze in turn.
The half-giant warrior's eyes seemed to say:
"Keep your promise to fight me again."
The one called Jevikal wore a provoking smirk, shrugging as if to dismiss Enkrid as insignificant—a taunting gesture, though it came off crude and unpolished.
"I've come to settle a debt," declared the Molsen Count's son with a commanding tone, assuming without question that he would go first.
Lastly, the swordsman from the Rokfried caravan, who once mocked Enkrid for pursuing the path of the blade, widened his eyes as he scanned Enkrid from head to toe.
He made no effort to hide his astonishment. In fact, he outright voiced it:
"Unbelievable. You've really improved. I thought even a hundred deaths wouldn't make it possible."
He wasn't wrong.
Enkrid had indeed reached this point by risking his life hundreds of times—not merely coming close to death but truly dying countless times to arrive here.
Though, of course, no one else could know that.
Now, Enkrid had to decide: Who should I fight first?
"What's this nonsense about lining up? Hey, you fought that woman yesterday and survived? Impressive."
It was Jevikal, flashing that insufferable grin. There was something inherently unlikable about him, but his demeanor wasn't the most pressing matter.
From his stance to the way he let his arms hang, every detail revealed his skill. His positioning allowed him to draw his blade at any moment, poised for action.
Enkrid found himself marveling.
"It's amazing that I can notice these things now."
"Think. And think again."
Audin's words resurfaced in his mind like a mantra.
"I don't care who I fight first," Enkrid concluded aloud.
"What… Are you saying you can beat anyone?"
The response came from… Who was it again? Enkrid had heard the name earlier but promptly forgot it.
"Sorry, what was your name again? The Count's son?"
When Enkrid asked, Edin Molsen's face turned crimson.
True provocation requires sincerity. Jevikal's attempt had been clumsy, but Enkrid's question cut deep—because he genuinely didn't remember.
"WHAT?"
Edin's disbelief quickly morphed into anger. Ignoring the stares of the others, he declared, "I'll teach you some manners."
Edin stepped forward.
"I said, line up!"
Krais, seemingly fearless, spoke up again. This time, Edin's fury turned toward the towering soldier.
"If you wish to die, keep talking, soldier," Edin threatened, oozing arrogance.
Krais merely shrugged.
"It's just… You're causing a bit of trouble here. Blocking the path for the merchants' wagons and pedestrians."
"Fine. I'll kill you first," Edin snapped. Drawing his sword, he stepped toward Krais with deadly intent.
But before the blade could descend, Krais darted behind Rem, shouting, "Rem! Captain! Captain!"
Edin's sword paused mid-air as Krais sought refuge behind Rem, who sighed and muttered, "Why do you always manage to be so irritating?"
Stepping forward, Rem casually swung his twin hand axes, their movement relaxed yet deliberate. His slouched posture belied the sharpness of his gaze.
"Listen, seems to me he's got a point. How about we move this elsewhere?" Rem suggested, sweeping his gaze over the group to emphasize his point.
Then he noticed something that left him momentarily stunned.
"This crazy captain…"
What had Rem noticed?
Enkrid, seemingly energized by the crowd's attention, was assessing the distance between himself and three opponents: the half-giant warrior, the rapier-wielding swordsman, and Jevikal.
It wasn't just posturing. He genuinely appeared ready to take them all on at once.
"He's going to get himself killed one day."
Unbeknownst to Rem, Enkrid had already died countless times before.
"This is pure greed, brother,"
As Audin spoke from behind, the sharp, tense atmosphere radiating from Enkrid seemed to ease slightly.
"Whatever this is about, it's not something worth causing harm to the city over," Audin stated.
The rapier swordsman nodded in agreement, stepping back.
"Well, I don't really care," Jevikal added, retreating a step as well. Seeing this, the half-giant warrior also subdued his presence without a word.
"…I did clear out the area behind the inn," spoke Allen, the innkeeper. A shrewd businessman at heart, he had noticed the tension brewing and seemed to predict that all of them would likely stay in the city—and more importantly, perhaps his inn.
None of them appeared to be particularly concerned with money, and there was an air of ease about them.
Recently, the inn had faced minor competition due to rumors of Vanessa's pumpkin soup and herbal pies drawing patrons. Allen, however, had chosen a different angle to stand out—not food, but space.
Behind the inn, he had constructed a proper training ground, complete with adequate room for sparring.
"Excellent," Enkrid said with a nod.
Soon, Allen began leading the group toward the back of the inn. While everyone moved, Rem approached Enkrid.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed? If you've hit your head, you should rest."
"At the very least, I don't want to hear that from you," Enkrid shot back.
Krais, overhearing the exchange, chimed in.
"What do you think, Captain?"
He was fishing for praise, clearly pleased with how his scheme had played out. Enkrid couldn't deny it—the situation had turned out quite favorably, like planting seeds and yielding a bountiful harvest.
"This month's guild dues? Take them," Enkrid offered.
For Krais, this was a significant reward, perhaps the most meaningful thing in his life.
"Much obliged," Krais replied with a grin.
As they exchanged banter while walking, Edin, the last one to remain, finally erupted in rage.
"You insolent wretches! Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"
If he were a dragon, he'd have breathed fire.
Ah, right. I almost forgot, Enkrid thought to himself before making a decision.
"I'll take on the Count's son first. Everyone else, kindly wait your turn."
Even if Edin was insufferably arrogant, he was still the son of the Molsen Count—the so-called King of the North. Some degree of respect was due.
"You insolent fool! I'll strip you of your arrogance myself," Edin snarled.
With Edin leading the way, his two companions followed closely behind. The trio passed Enkrid and his group without another word.
Whatever the outcome, Enkrid found himself content.
The group moved silently to the inn's back lot, which had been transformed into a spacious sparring ground. An old warehouse had been demolished, its foundation replaced with neatly laid slate. Chairs had even been set up, creating a space that looked intentionally designed for duels.
"The Count's son will go first! Please wait your turn!"
Krais played the role of a circus clown, hyping up the atmosphere. To Enkrid's mild surprise, there were no complaints—just quiet observation.
In some eyes, there was curiosity. In others, a touch of arrogance.
Enkrid stood face to face with Edin.
Edin raised his blade and declared, "Come at me first!"
Enkrid did as he was told.
He strode forward deliberately, closing the distance. His own sword remained sheathed.
"Are you mocking me?" Edin growled, clenching his teeth as he swung his sword downward with all his strength.
Yet Enkrid didn't stop.
Why?
Because he wanted to show everyone watching.
Show them what he could do.
Show them what his sword was.
Show them the kind of person they had come to witness.
Perhaps it was reckless. Or perhaps it was bold confidence.
If his intent succeeded, it would be seen as valor. If not, mere folly.
After all, the line between confidence and arrogance is razor-thin.
And Enkrid chose confidence.
He watched the descending sword without flinching. At the last moment, he drew his blade with his left hand.
Sching!
In a single fluid motion, he raised his sword, catching Edin's strike—not at the center of the blade, but near the hilt, the ricasso.
The closer to the hilt, the easier it is to absorb force.
Thunk.
Despite the power behind Edin's swing, the sound was dull, thanks to how Enkrid bent his knees to channel and disperse the impact.
Then came the bind.
The swords locked, and Enkrid seized the moment. Stepping forward with his left foot, he closed the distance, twisting his torso as he launched his right fist forward.
Crack!
Though defense and offense appeared distinct, the actions unfolded so seamlessly that they seemed like a single motion.
"Guk!"
Even with leather armor for protection, Enkrid's punch was more than just heavy—it was a weapon in itself.
It was a strike that even the half-giant warrior, quietly observing, couldn't help but find impressive.
The months of strength training hadn't been in vain. With that single blow, Edin coughed up something involuntarily.
Edin Molsen—better than when he stood at his father's side, sure. But still...
Not enough.
His practical combat experience was lacking, and many aspects of his technique felt unpolished. If it were a drawn-out duel relying on tactical exchanges, Edin might stand a chance. But against unpredictability, he was weak. That was Enkrid's conclusion.
In some ways, it was a reckless move.
Walking in defenselessly to block the opponent's attack and land a single punch?
If there had been any mistake, the advantage would have shifted to Edin.
But in combat, results matter more than method.
Enkrid stood over the fallen Edin, raising his gaze.
"You, just going to keep watching from the sidelines?"
The question was directed at Edin's escort.
The bodyguard's expression hardened as his piercing eyes met Enkrid's.
Clenching his jaw, the escort shook his head—a refusal.
He didn't seem like the type to shy away from a fight. Perhaps he thought it wasn't the right time.
It didn't matter. There were plenty of others left to face.
The rapier swordsman was genuinely astonished.
Has he improved?
Watching someone's stance was one thing; seeing them in real combat was another.
Enkrid was seasoned, bold, and capable of enjoying the fight itself.
It was unexpected.
To the swordsman, imagining Enkrid transforming like this had seemed impossible.
He's improved immensely.
How could this be described?
What was once a barren wasteland had somehow turned into a lush green field.
"Remarkable," he muttered to himself.
Enkrid didn't seem like a prodigy, yet his skills had grown at an abnormal rate.
"Surprising, isn't it?"
A female warrior, towering a few heads taller than him, spoke beside him.
"Well, you wouldn't know what he was like before," the swordsman replied.
"What matters is now," she said, her eyes gleaming.
This woman was no ordinary person, either. She carried an air of something exceptional.
She glanced at the rapier swordsman as if questioning his nature.
Who are you, really?
But that was as far as their mutual interest went.
Neither felt compelled to probe further.
Right now, they each had someone more important to focus on.
The rapier swordsman felt curiosity surge—a rare feeling for him.
Once hailed as the reincarnation of Frok, he had always been susceptible to intrigue.
And now, he wanted to fight Enkrid. To measure him, to test himself against him.
But before he could act, the female warrior stepped forward.
"My turn, then?"
"Not so fast."
Audin interrupted with a grin. "How about sparring with me for a day, sister? Looks like our friend over there is eager to get his hands dirty."
The swordsman called Jevikal stepped forward, signaling his intent.
"Good eye, big guy," the female warrior remarked.
She wasn't wrong. Watching Enkrid fight had stirred something in Jevikal as well.
There was something about him that made you want to slice him up.
"Suits me. I'll leave him to you," she said, stepping aside.
Jevikal made his way to the center of the sparring ground. His eyes were fixed on Enkrid.
"You're good with your fists," Jevikal said.
"I'd like to think I'm better with a sword," Enkrid replied calmly.
The audacity of that response.
Jevikal's grin vanished. His exterior joviality had always been deceptive.
When he was smiling, he wasn't truly enjoying himself.
But when his expression turned serious, it meant he was having fun.
I'll take an arm.
That'll change his attitude.
Jevikal prided himself on reading his opponent's temperament.
And on breaking it.
Those steady, resolute eyes—he would relish the moment they filled with fear.
The very thought thrilled him.
I can't wait to cut him apart.
He would press his advantage slowly, like a chef preparing a meal.
And he hoped Enkrid wouldn't crumble after just a few scratches.
Jevikal sincerely wished for a fight worth savoring.
The duel between them lasted a while.
Both used an array of precise techniques, constantly probing each other.
By the end, Jevikal had managed to leave sixteen cuts on Enkrid's body.
One of those strikes, a puncture in the abdomen, could have been fatal if it had landed slightly differently.
Even so...
"You're something else," Jevikal remarked.
Yet Enkrid's unyielding gaze remained unchanged.
Jevikal smiled—only because he wasn't truly enjoying this.
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