CHAPTER 48

It was the first time such a level of force was deployed in a small-scale skirmish.

Just as the enemy had prepared their spells.

On this side, the card prepared was a squire.

The impact of that squire on the battlefield was horrifying.

The junior knight, dodging the rain of arrows by advancing, drew his sword and slashed.

Swish.

The moment a silver line was drawn in the air, the heads of three soldiers blocking the front were lopped off.

The squire retrieved his swung sword and struck downward from above.

The sword fell like a black lightning bolt and immediately rose back up.

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

Crack!

Rather than cutting, it smashed. The sword that split the soldier's head with the impact now flew like a butterfly.

The fluttering of the butterfly's wings quickly turned into a dirge filled with terror.

The fluttering of the sword's blade in every gap took the breath of the enemies.

Then, two soldiers with large, thick wooden shields blocked the path.

As they covered themselves completely with the shields, the fluttering of the sword was blocked.

When the sword struck the shield with a thud, deep dents appeared on the shield's surface.

"Close in!"

An enemy soldier shouted. Despite sweating coldly, he did his best.

But no matter how hard he tried, he was not free from the touch of the grim reaper.

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

Bang! Crash!

The sword battered the shield. The iron rim didn't cut through but bent, serving its purpose as a shield, but the hands of the soldier holding it couldn't withstand the impact.

"Aaagh!"

The wrist holding the shield twisted and broke, with the wrist bone piercing through the skin.

As the shield fell powerlessly to the ground, the sword slashed horizontally across the soldier's torso.

His upper body was severed, and his entrails spilled onto the ground. Blood splattered everywhere.

Fear seeped into the eyes of the surrounding soldiers.

"Damn it."

One of the soldiers from the Duchy of Aspen cursed, his voice trembling. Whether the owner of the cape heard it, his nose twitched, and he immediately kicked off the ground.

As terrifying as his swordsmanship was, the most frightening thing about this figure was his movement.

Whenever he kicked off the ground, he would appear here and there, slicing soldiers' throats and piercing their bodies.

Even when soldiers tried to block him with shields or armored themselves in defense, it all seemed futile.

"Shoot him!"

One of the commanders shouted.

It was a bold decision. Thirty crossbowmen, who had been waiting on one side, fired their quarrels.

Avoiding all the close-range shots was impossible. The commander was confident in this.

But the owner of the cape shattered that confidence.

Bang!

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

What goes up must come down. The owner of the cape, flying in an arc, landed ten steps in front of the commander of the Duchy of Aspen.

It was the heart of the enemy camp.

"…Block him!"

The desperate cry of the highest commander of the Duchy of Aspen was pitiful.

If only the Gray Hound unit were still there.

But they had already retreated due to the responsibility for the defeat and Mitch Hurrier's injuries, among various other complex situations.

"Hooo."

The owner of the cape exhaled deeply and swung his sword again. From above to below, and from below to above.

Swish!

The blade curved and lashed at the commander's bodyguard like a whip.

Crack! Snap!

The thick leather armor draped over the body was cut clean through. The bodyguard, wearing an iron helmet, was struck on the head by the sword's edge and thrown aside.

Bang!

After one hit, the bodyguard rolled to the side, blood streaming from his nose. Though he appeared fine externally, his skull had been shattered by the impact, killing him.

The squire, having dealt with the bodyguard, pierced the commander's neck.

Thud.

The squire, having killed the enemy commander alone in the midst of the enemy camp, turned and headed back.

His return was just as impressive.

Kicking an enemy aside, he leaped and dashed several times across the ground.

From a distance, it looked as if a red line was being drawn across the middle of the battlefield.

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

Rem thought the cape's owner, the squire, was quite skilled.

'He knows how to fight.'

He knew how to wreak havoc in the enemy camp. By showing no mercy and demonstrating his superiority, he instilled fear.

Through this, he ravaged the enemy camp at will.

Particularly impressive was how he evaded the crossbowmen's ambush prepared by the enemy.

'If it were me, I would have jumped into the group of crossbowmen first.'

His opponent certainly showed signs of being well-trained. The title of combat and warfare expert was not for nothing.

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

When they targeted him, he displayed his reserved leg strength. Kicking off the ground, he leaped through the air and struck down the enemy commander.

He was like a fierce tiger. It was as if one was watching a winged tiger.

Ragna assessed his opponent's level and compared it to himself.

His opponent had already walked the path he needed to follow.

'At that level.'

We can reach that level without taking shortcuts or undergoing grueling training.

While Rem observed the opponent's strategy, Ragna gauged the level of their abilities.

'His swordsmanship is sharp.'

It's a middle sword style based on quick sword techniques. At first glance, it might look like he's using a normal sword, but it was all a deception.

Quick sword and middle sword.

He mixes the two styles. He clearly has an excellent swordsmanship teacher.

Usually, mixing two sword styles results in sloppy basics.

But there was no such sloppiness in the squire with the red cape.

'Well, he is a squire.'

Having assessed the level, Ragna felt his motivation wane. The path and the destination were already clear. Seeing someone who had already gone ahead didn't stir any competitive spirit.

All that remained was to walk the path.

The training and drills were just tedious, painful in their monotony. It was simply the problem of having too much talent.

Jaxon assessed the opponent's skills and found the gaps.

'At least, five times.'

The enemy could have taken down the cape's owner. It was a matter of strategy, not ability.

The commander was foolish.

They were also caught off guard by the unexpected attack.

If it had been Jaxon, he would have ended it before such a situation arose.

The squad member from the religious sect observed the opponent's movements and nodded.

"A brother who is skilled at guiding the reaper to God's side."

It was a way of saying he fought exceptionally well.

"We don't need to fall back."

Big Eyes stuck out his tongue in amazement. Just one person was manipulating the flow of the battlefield at will. It felt like victory was promised even before the fight started.

And Encrid...

'This is a knight.'

He was stirred. His heart pounded wildly, his whole body trembling. The hair on his skin stood on end, and he felt a chill.

At the same time, a warm sensation rose from his lower abdomen.

His eyes never left the squire.

In the current continent, squires and junior knights are the main force of the knightly orders.

They are just one step below the knights who can change the course of a war single-handedly.

A killing machine was now sweeping through the battlefield. He killed the enemy commander and returned leisurely.

'How can he do that?'

The owner of the cape was neither a beast nor a frog.

So how could he display such power?

A symbol of the might that could cut down thousands alone, that's what a knight is.

What made that possible?

What allowed him to reach the limits of human capability?

Encrid didn't know. Perhaps that's why he was even more impressed by his opponent's movements.

At the same time, he felt something explode in his mind.

"Sometimes you can learn just by watching."

The words of a swordsmanship instructor from a big city flashed through his mind. As his excitement subsided, Focus Point activated unintentionally.

With superhuman concentration, he could understand the meaning behind his opponent's steps. He saw the intention behind the swung sword.

'Middle sword technique.'

The power of the middle sword.

The ability to wield a sword with such strength also meant the ability to swing it quickly.

His opponent had mixed the essence of the middle sword with the quick sword. Encrid could see it.

'He withdrew his foot.'

He subtly moved his foot back, making it seem like he was determining the range of his attack line.

'No, he's not determining it; he's already determined it.'

The northern middle sword technique Ragna taught focused on building a foundation around the attack line.

The squire's method was slightly different.

He drew a circle around himself.

It was swordsmanship based on the central continent's basics. He drew a circle with his body at the center and massacred anyone within that circle.

If they got caught, he slashed; if they approached, he stabbed.

At a glance, it seemed like he was using his footwork to dominate the opponent, but in reality, it was different.

'He maintains his range.'

He only used his footwork when necessary. Though a few of his sword strikes were impressive, most of his attacks were thrusts.

He kept watching and analyzing. He gathered the information and organized it in his mind.

'Does using a middle sword technique mean it must always rely on brute strength?'

The secret move Mitch Hurrier revealed was similar to a middle sword technique rather than a normal or light sword technique.

A wheel-like slash that cuts through anything it encounters.

Why did he use that as his trump card?

To deceive the opponent?

No. Just because the five sword techniques are divided, it doesn't mean they are completely different from each other.

There are intersections among the five sword techniques.

Using a middle sword technique doesn't necessarily mean it must always involve downward strikes and brute force.

His eyes moved, his brain worked, and Encrid's fingers twitched involuntarily.

"Enjoying the view? Hmm?"

Rem was about to speak thoughtlessly but stopped.

Ragna, having lost interest in the squire's movements, turned around at the sound.

"Don't touch him."

Ragna whispered. He recognized the squad leader's state at a glance.

Whether on the battlefield, in a tavern, in an alleyway, or in a lover's arms.

Realization strikes like the pranks of the goddess of luck.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, out of nowhere, it comes silently and shakes the brain abruptly.

"Keep watch on the sides."

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

The religious squad member quietly moved to stand behind Encrid.

Big Eyes whispered, asking what was going on.

Rem answered the question.

"It looks like the squad leader is about to break out of his shell. It's about time. He's been swinging his sword night and day on his own."

Rem acknowledged the squad leader's efforts. He deserved such fortune.

Of course, this wasn't merely luck.

It was a natural outcome of repeatedly experiencing real battles, enduring hardships, and refining his swordsmanship basics.

Seeing Encrid now, more than the squire, reignited Ragna's motivation.

'How can this be possible?'

What drives the squad leader like this?

Despite knowing the clear limits and end, how can he keep wielding his sword?

To Ragna, it was fascinating. As always, the squad leader intrigued him more than the opponent who had single-handedly wreaked havoc on the battlefield.

Shortly after a member of the knightly order returned, the shout of their allied commander echoed through the air.

"Charge!"

Soon, their allies surged forward. Battle cries and shouts mixed together, and as the infantry charged, the ground shook with a rumble.

Encrid, however, just stared blankly into space.

He was still in a state of profound realization.

Due to their outstanding performance in the previous battle, the Troublemaker squad could afford to take on the role of bystanders.

No one said anything to them for staying still.

In fact, even if anyone wanted to, they couldn't approach because of the intimidating aura emanating from the four, excluding Big Eyes.

Even though they had seen the squire rampaging ahead, the allies who saw the Troublemaker squad up close felt they were even more terrifying.

Thus, the war raced towards its end, leaving them alone.

This winter and the upcoming spring would likely be very busy. They would have to endure the winter with their stockpiled resources and rebuild their fortifications.

The border between Naurillia and Aspen would be redrawn.

While their allies charged forward, Encrid was recalling the basics he had learned.

Intersection, swordsmanship, Valen Mercenary Sword Technique, Northern Middle Sword Technique.

Everything was a weapon he had learned.

There was no need to confine these weapons within the framework of basic techniques.

He could parry and deflect with the middle sword.

Binding, the technique of attaching the swords, was the basis of parrying.

He hadn't realized it while learning.

The state of profound realization, this sudden enlightenment, didn't instantly elevate Encrid's skills.

It did, however, slightly increase his insight, but his limited talent prevented him from instantly embodying it.

Nevertheless, Encrid clearly understood his limitations.

This meant that, given enough time, he could train to his limit and surpass it.

The end of the cliff, once so high and invisible, was now in sight.

When the wall ahead is so high and wide that its end is invisible, it's insurmountable.

But if the end is visible, no matter how far, high, or wide it is...

Even if you can't walk, you can crawl over it.

Encrid realized this.

"Ah."

He was so delighted he drooled. Indeed, he woke up from his state of profound realization, drooling.

"Why are you even drooling?"

Rem scolded him from the side.

Encrid opened his eyes and looked around. At some point, all the allies around him had disappeared.

"They all charged ahead. If you're tired, you should rest in the barracks instead of dozing off while standing."

"Oh."

"Oh, what? Let's go back. There's nothing more to do in this battle, anyway."

And that was true.

The junior knight in the cape had returned to the main camp.

The battle was over. The enemy was not just retreating but fleeing back to their homeland.

It was time to return. Time to go back to the city.

Encrid turned his body, looking at the setting sun.

The sight of the squire's power had rekindled a fire in his heart.

His destination and ideal were right before his eyes.

An old dream resurfaced.

'What must I do to become a knight?'

Simply increasing his strength wouldn't be enough. First, he had to prove his skills.

The time for remaining as a low-ranking soldier was over.

Encrid muttered to himself inwardly.