Chapter 308 - Trapped

"I've got her."

When magicians speak of a duel, they say they open each other's magical worlds. The spells they've accumulated in their respective worlds become their weapons.

Galaf pulled the stream of water from within his world.

"Charge and strike!"

A staff appeared in Galaf's hand.

From the tip of the staff, a brilliant white gemstone served as the origin, and a stream of water began to spill forth. It quickly gathered into a massive mass, transforming into water projectiles that shot through the air.

"You think you can beat me while cursed? Foolish!"

Galaf shouted as he launched the water projectiles.

Just as Galaf commanded the attack, Esther's hands formed a seal.

She did not show emotion, only revealing her spell.

Whoosh!

As Esther's fingers finished their movements, a fireball formed in her eyes, soaring toward the target.

Two spells, made of different elements, collided in mid-air.

Boom!

A loud explosion echoed, and steam rose into the air.

The fireball vanished, and the water mass veered off-course, striking the ground.

Boom!

The ground cracked, and the steam surrounded the area, obstructing vision.

However, the two magicians didn't lose track of each other. They could sense each other's movements by the flow of mana, so visual obstruction didn't matter.

"You fool!"

Galaf repeatedly called her a fool, fueling Esther's determination.

Esther had already decided what to say when the time came to kill him.

Now was not the time for words.

Galaf, while speaking, secretly sent two of his disciples behind Esther.

The others had been sent to handle the main task, but these two remained.

They weren't particularly skilled in magic, but they were excellent with swords.

"Foolish girl."

Galaf muttered to himself, repeating the earlier insult as he chanted more spells.

His disciples moved stealthily, using the mist to conceal themselves. Since they hadn't yet formed their magical worlds, Esther wouldn't detect their presence through mana.

The disciples advanced through the mist, one gripping his sword tightly as he scanned the area.

They intended to strike if they saw Esther, turning their eyes rapidly, but something suddenly appeared before them.

Thud!

The first disciple, who had stepped ahead, suddenly found himself engulfed by something. Pressure started building on his head.

"Ugh!"

"You bitch!"

The second disciple drew his sword and thrust it toward the figure.

Clink!

The sword bounced off.

"Ugh!"

It felt like he had struck a stone.

The disciple lost grip on his sword, and his hand went numb.

Suddenly, a large hand emerged from the mist and grabbed the second disciple by the neck.

The disciple clawed at the hand and pulled, but it was futile.

The sword's edge bounced off, and the disciple's struggles proved pointless.

Gasp!

Both disciples hung limply in the air, unable to scream as their breath was cut off.

The disciple whose neck was grabbed began to turn purple.

The pressure on his throat was suffocating.

The disciple's face began to turn an even deeper shade of purple, and his tongue slithered out, dangling from his mouth.

Meanwhile, Esther calmly chanted another spell.

"Demuler's Scythe."

It was the same spell as before.

A vacuum blade appeared, cutting through the air and temporarily dispersing the steam.

"Same trick!"

Galaf blocked with the same blue shield as before.

The shield dispersed, and before Esther stood a creature that resembled a golem.

It was too human-like to be a standard golem.

The two dead disciples were also visible.

One had his tongue hanging out as he died, while the other bled from his eyes, ears, and nose, lying lifeless on the ground with his skull shattered.

"Summon?"

"I found it."

Esther replied without a hint of amusement in her expression.

Galaf gritted his teeth. He couldn't afford to lose to a half-hearted magician who barely opened her magical world.

On the other hand, Esther found him laughable.

The reason her alias was "Witch of Battle" was clear.

She was good at fighting.

Her magical world began with combat and battle.

"Ah, it's been a while."

This was a fight with a worthy opponent.

Though she would need to spend over a month as a leopard afterward, she didn't regret this small bout.

***

Thud!

Strike when they come close.

Approach and strike again when they pull away.

Enkrid was a siege weapon in human form, breaking through the enemy's lines.

He demonstrated that power now.

Among the enemy soldiers, some began to retreat in fear.

"Don't fall back!"

The commander drew his sword from behind.

If they retreated, they would die by their own comrades' hands.

The soldiers, resolved, grit their teeth and continued their assault.

Enkrid observed their reactions and pondered, as always, about swordsmanship.

How to wield his sword.

It was all about the way of combat.

"When fighting Commander Shinar she adapted her swordsmanship to deal with me."

Why did he do that?

It was because she was using the proper method for the situation and moment.

Now, what should Enkrid do?

He would revisit and reapply everything he knew, recalling his experiences, embedding them in his body.

It was the usual process.

With that mindset, he swung his sword again.

Whoosh.

The murderous intent hit his chest before the wind.

Enkrid pulled back the sword he'd been swinging.

He adopted a defensive stance using the form of an unmarked sword style.

His right foot moved behind his left, turning his body to raise his blade and guard his center.

Thud!

It was a timely response.

The enemy's blade struck the middle of Enkrid's steel sword.

Had he been a moment slower, he would have taken a devastating blow.

The enemy's sword rebounded, and the man who wielded it took a defensive stance.

Enkrid observed his opponent in one glance.

He was shorter than Enkrid, with his helmet just reaching his chin, no helmet, a solid physique, and large feet.

Enkrid instantly assessed him.

"A fast, explosive attack-based fighter."

If this were a swordsmanship assessment, it was the style of swift strikes.

The language from the southernmost regions described the types of swordsmanship as "a straight sword, heavy sword, deceptive sword, fast sword, soft sword."

Swordsmanship could be broadly divided into five categories, each combining various techniques to form new styles.

The opponent's swordsmanship was such that it combined swift feet with fast hands. A blade that moved as quickly as lightning.

The enemy jumped up a few times from the spot and then moved again. His movements were lightning-fast. He swung a curved sword, one that resembled a scimitar.

It seemed as though anything caught on that curved blade would be sliced to pieces.

Enkrid moved his feet, stepping back.

Thud!

Clang!

Thud!

Twice, three times, four times, five times, he managed to block the strikes, but his opponent did not relent.

There wasn't a sound of heavy breathing, yet the attacks came one after another.

Even more startling, they didn't seem to slow down.

It was as if his opponent could swing like this all day.

Enkrid wasn't fazed.

The opponent was slower than Lykanos.

After blocking nine strikes and retreating ten steps, Enkrid held his sword in his right hand and attempted to deflect the next attack.

The enemy seemed to feint a strike before pulling back his sword, quickly bending his knees and lowering his stance.

Enkrid kept his right hand steady, but with his left hand, he grabbed the sword from the sword belt at his right waist.

The sword was named Fuli—extremely light, making it difficult to handle, but the best choice for a quick thrust.

The opponent's movements were so fast that Enkrid suddenly found the man floating in the air.

There was no sound of him pushing off the ground.

It seemed as though he had appeared from above, performing a near-magical maneuver.

In mid-air, the enemy slashed downward.

A strike filled with speed and weight, coming half a beat faster than the previous nine strikes.

It was a decisive blow, a final strike.

Enkrid did not back down. Instead, he moved his left hand.

The downward strike and the upward surge of light narrowly passed each other.

Flick!

The curved blade grazed Enkrid's chest.

But it didn't cut through.

The final effort lacked the necessary power.

"Damn, you're faster than I thought."

The opponent's sword lodged into Enkrid's chest, but he couldn't follow through with the attack.

The sword merely brushed the man's chest.

The leather armor and gambeson were cut, but the inner armor stopped the blade.

The armor he had gotten while saving the "one-eyed" was quite useful.

The man, with Enkrid's sword in his chest, fell to the ground, convulsing.

"I've been playing with someone really fast lately," Enkrid muttered to the dying man.

The man blinked a few times before his breath stopped.

It was a fatal wound.

It was amazing that he had spoken after his heart was pierced.

Enkrid swung his sword through the air to shake off the blood.

The strike from earlier had left his chest aching.

The gambeson and leather armor had deep gashes, but the bandage armor underneath had held.

The bone ached, so the strike had definitely been powerful.

Enkrid didn't know who he had killed, but the Aspen commander did.

He was a fast-handed man named Janus, a mercenary among the best in Aspen.

His swift slashes and light movements had haunted many, but the nightmare ended here.

"Shall we finish this?"

Enkrid said as he walked toward the enemy soldiers.

His own soldiers were watching from behind.

Especially one soldier, who had been whining to the end, couldn't take his eyes off the scene.

'I'm an idiot.'

He had fought brilliantly.

So brilliantly, in fact, it was beyond what he could even comment on.

Now, as enemies charged toward him, they fell one by one, too quickly to even register.

'Fighting against someone like him…'

It was because of Helma.

He had secretly admired Enkrid, but now, seeing him fight, he was envious.

He felt shame.

He felt humiliated.

He wanted to hide in a mouse hole.

What had he been thinking, speaking nonsense about someone like that?

'Tell him to take the lead?'

He had even criticized him indirectly.

But now, seeing this, he couldn't help but be in awe of Enkrid.

"Damn it!"

The soldier's anger turned into raw strength.

"Kill them all!"

The excitement was contagious, and all the soldiers were whipped into a frenzy.

"Don't you dare!" Helma shouted.

The enemy faltered.

Though Aspen had the advantage in numbers, their morale was breaking, and they were losing ground.

This was due to Enkrid's overwhelming presence, which shifted the tide in favor of Naurelian.

It was strange, however.

The enemy's movements were odd.

It seemed as though they fought with certain patterns and rules.

If someone were to look from above, they would see strange formations on the battlefield.

Enkrid pushed in, while the enemy pulled back.

Despite this, they maintained some order, and the number of enemies between Enkrid and his troops increased steadily.

But no one felt any real danger.

It was a fight they had clearly won.

This was a battle that would end when the enemy either retreated or gave up.

Enkrid kept pushing forward.

After Janus, two more mercenaries with decent reputations stepped in.

"My name is Joy Hurrier."

A swordsman from the Hurrier family joined the fray.

Enkrid took him down between five and seven exchanges.

"You're a monster!"

The enemy's cry sounded like an admission of defeat.

At that moment, no one dared speak of Naurelian's loss.

The Aspen troops that had pulled back were moving stealthily in their ranks.

They were forcing themselves into formation, secretly trying to create a divide between Enkrid and his allies.

Abnaier watched the battlefield from afar, muttering to himself,

"Come on, come closer."

The front was a plain, while the back consisted of small hills, rising erratically. If one moved towards the river, a valley would appear, and turning right would lead into a forest. Everywhere, there was Abnaier's meticulous planning.

Krais blocked those attempting to retreat. Keeping cards like Shinar and Dunbakel in reserve had been worthwhile.

"I've stopped them!" Nurat shouted as he approached.

Krais quietly clenched his fist. That was it. If the situation remained in a stalemate, they would be fine.

Even in this situation, the enemy continued to fight relentlessly. They showed no intention of retreating. It was a foolish move.

"Do they really want to fight all night?"

That would only cause heavy casualties on both sides, but Aspen would bear far greater losses. A single battle like this would result in irreparable damage. And yet, they refused to retreat.

However, his side couldn't pull back either.

It was a fight they had clearly won.

So why did it feel so frustrating?

Krais couldn't understand the enemy's motives, and despite their victory, his face remained dark.

"Block with your bodies."

Some members of the Gray Dog unit, having retreated, now followed Enkrid. These were people who made persistence their greatest asset.

"Push them to the end!"

Were they mad?

Enkrid thought to himself as he swung his sword.

It was as they began to retreat.

Aspen was barely holding on with the lives of its soldiers. If the battle continued until morning, the odds would shift heavily in favor of Naurelian.

And yet, the enemy did not give up.

It wasn't just the Gray Dog. The eyes of the surrounding enemy soldiers had changed. Their morale was unlike anything he had seen before.

"Kill them!"

"Kill them!"

Enkrid didn't know.

Some of them had families held hostage, while others were criminals.

They were people willing to sacrifice their future for the present.

If they survived here, their sins would be forgiven.

If they survived, their families would be granted Krona.

By killing one man, they could receive immense ammounts Krona, something they could never dream of.

These were the desperate soldiers, willing to sacrifice everything.

Of course, at first, they had tried to run after facing Enkrid a few times, realizing that all they were doing was offering their lives.

But they couldn't retreat now.

"Shoot them all if they retreat."

If they tried to retreat, their backs would be pierced by their own allies' spears and arrows.

They were the poison unit.

A retreat meant death.

They had to fight forward.

The atmosphere was growing more tense.

Enkrid continued to fight, kill, and resist, but despite his efforts, he couldn't return to his original position.

"Joy Hurrier."

The swordsman from the Hurrier family and mercenaries, having abandoned their lives, blocked him with their bodies.

Enkrid's muscles began to tremble.

It was impossible to break through them with strength alone. Their barrier was too thick.

Meanwhile, Naurelian's main forces also attempted to push forward, but Aspen resisted with all its might.

In the end, things went wrong.

Enkrid became isolated.

There were several reasons for this.

First, the enemy was willing to sacrifice lives.

"Shit, what the hell is this?"

Krais was the first to realize it.

They had sacrificed hundreds of lives just to isolate Enkrid.

Some of the Gray Dog unit, in unfavorable terrain, had even charged the Border Guard regulars.

All they gained was separating Enkrid from his forces.

Second, the enemy's resolve.

This resolve was also Abnaier's resolve.

Those who clung to Enkrid did so with their lives, holding on, making the situation even more difficult.

Third, the terrain, formations, and preparations.

Abnaier had prepared many things, and among them were such strategies.

As Enkrid attempted to retreat, he realized he had lost his way.

Magic was involved here, but no one could notice it.

Naturally.

These were preparations made while advancing slowly, with each step being meticulously set up.

It was all made to capture a few key individuals.

Among the preparations were human traps and formations, known as the "Eastern or Southern Formations," which were strategies at the far eastern or southern ends of the battlefield.

Enkrid looked to the sky, but he couldn't find his way.

The magic had obscured the stars.

Before he knew it, night had fallen.

Trapped in a dense thicket between the hills, Enkrid realized too late that Abnaier had won.

"We've got him," Abnaier declared solemnly

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