Chapter 176: That Was How They Felt
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 176: That Was How They Felt
Bring out everything I’ve learned and practiced. Yes, let’s do that.
The moment he made up his mind and moved, his body reacted instinctively.
He could see everything, and he could react to everything.
The countless days he had spent training with the Isolation Technique supported him, serving as an inexhaustible source of strength.
It’s working.
His body moved exactly as he willed. He committed himself to a single style.
Northern-style Heavy Swordsmanship.
Swordsmanship styles developed across the continent were generally based on the fundamentals of Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu, combining five basic forms. For instance, Mitch Hurier used a style that added Jung to Jeong and Yu. Ragna, however, had taught him a style that focused heavily on Jung, with just a light touch of Kwae.
That was Northern-style Heavy Swordsmanship.
Of course, he had only learned the basics. They were simple techniques, but they were more than enough. With that swordsmanship—honed as his foundation—serving as his keynote, the world slowed down.
I can see it.
He heard the enemy’s attack patterns with his eyes and saw them with his ears. As his senses intertwined and threw open the Gate of the Sixth Sense, everything became clear. He categorized and distinguished the incoming blades and the order in which they would arrive. He could grasp every single one of them.
The speed at which he perceived and reacted was like a flash of light.
Left, from here.
It was only natural that he had the luxury to think. Right now, Encrid was faster than the monsters and demonic beasts surrounding him; he saw their movements in advance, and his body kept pace.
Thus, he moved even more. He stepped forward a beat faster than his opponents and swung his hand one more time.
The power...
If the Heart of Monstrous Strength remained active for too long, it would ruin his body. Therefore, he had to use it in short, instantaneous bursts. During the repetition of "today" over the past loops, he hadn't just learned the sense of coordination. Through the process of dodging and dodging again, he had naturally gained this through hours of grueling discipline.
His heart gave a heavy thud, and power flooded his muscles.
Three times? No, I can swing four.
Four slashes imbued with monstrous strength in a single heartbeat.
Sshhhk!
None of the strikes met any resistance. It was a series of strikes that split the heads of four gnolls—specifically, cleaving their crowns perfectly in half.
His body moved exactly as he wished. His sword struck exactly where he wanted.
As his body’s coordination multiplied his reaction speed and he unleashed everything he had learned, thread by thread, Encrid suddenly thought of Rem. How could that man charge alone into the middle of a battlefield and remain unscathed? How was such a feat possible?
With this level of skill—with his current self—it was possible.
As he slashed and slashed again, cleaved and cleaved once more, walking through the time he had seized over and over...
Ah.
He also remembered the associate knight he had seen back then. The sheer martial might that man had displayed as he charged forward alone—how had he done it?
They said "Will" was required. They said it was a distant, impossible dream for Encrid.
But was that any reason to give up? Not a chance.
His days were already too busy just doing his best with what he could do right now, taking one step at a time. He had no time for despair.
So, Encrid did it.
He did everything he possibly could. Using his body, which had been tempered by the Heart of Monstrous Strength and the Isolation Technique, he even mimicked the charge of an associate knight.
He rampaged and rampaged until his limbs trembled violently and a dull ache throbbed in his internal organs. Only then did he leap backward.
"Ah!"
Behind him, Luagarne let out a strange cry.
All the energy drained from Encrid’s body. When he asked for help, Luagarne wrapped her whip around his wrist and pulled. He collapsed into her arms and blacked out immediately.
It was only natural, considering he had displayed power akin to an associate knight without even possessing Will.
However, those who had been watching him—those who had climbed atop the wall—Luagarne, Finn, Krais, and even Esther—felt an inexplicable fire kindle in their chests. Goosebumps broke out on their skin, and a tremor ran through their entire bodies.
What kind of human can do that?
It was a moment that made them want to compose a song, even though none of them were bards.
"Fuck, the wall's name is locked in," said a mason who had a scab on his head from bumping it while carrying stones. He would drop the "Crazy" and just call it "Encrid’s Wall."
"What the hell... why am I tearing up?"
Some of the vigilantes actually shed tears. Rather than the joy of survival, they all trembled with an inexplicable, profound emotion as they watched the man rampaging before them.
People often use the word "impression." It refers to something being engraved upon the heart after witnessing it—an engraving of feeling, of deep emotion. At this very moment, Encrid was engraved upon their hearts.
"Aaaaaah!"
Amidst the roars and cheers, even though the gnolls had not yet retreated, they chanted his name as they shot arrows and hurled stones.
"Encrid! Encrid!"
Finally, the horde of monsters took a step back.
"How is he?"
Since they had seen him collapse as he returned, everyone asked in unison. They hoped he wasn't hurt. They hoped his body wasn't damaged. They hoped he would walk out perfectly fine. They wanted to see his smiling face.
They all felt the same way. They wanted to cheer for him. They wanted to give him anything they could.
That was how they felt.
And their expectations were met.
"Are they gone?" Encrid asked, standing and walking perfectly fine.
Deutsch Fullman stepped down onto the barricade. He stared at the glaive in his hand for a moment, and then, as if dissatisfied with it, tossed it aside. It was an act that would have shocked his subordinates, for like any true mercenary, he cherished his weapon like his own life.
Stepping forward, Deutsch dropped to one knee. Bowing his head, he spoke.
"My thanks."
It was brief, but the gruff man’s words carried everything.
"...It’s probably not over yet," Encrid merely accepted the words calmly. He didn't even smile. Deutsch hadn't expected a smile, thanks, or praise. He had simply shown respect to the man who had set his blood boiling.
Seeing this, everyone dropped to one knee—those standing on the barricade and those on the ground below.
Encrid only shrugged, but those who had watched him for a long time knew: he was quite pleased with this situation.
*
After the battle, the kneeling, and the heroics had all passed, Encrid washed up and returned to his cabin to check his body. He had indeed overexerted himself. His muscles were stiff, and there was a tightness around his heart.
At this rate...
He had paced himself. He would recover in a day. That was enough.
Should he thank Audin again?
"The Isolation Technique is also a method to forge a Regenerative Body. 'Regenerative Body' is a term from the East or the far North, referring to a body that ultimately recovers even if it is broken. This technique does not stop at merely reconstructing your skeletal frame."
Audin had emphasized this repeatedly. In the end, the Isolation Technique laid the foundation for the body’s recovery. He was reaping the full benefits of it now.
I’m fine.
He clenched and unclenched his fist to check his condition. The stiffness was gradually fading from his trembling muscles.
"Well, um, I was actually quite surprised," Krais said from beside Encrid.
Indeed, everyone was staring at him. After pulling off a stunt like that, he hadn't even been knocked out for half a day; he had just closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and was now walking around perfectly fine.
"I’ve fallen for you all over again," Finn said.
Esther merely stared at him intently. What did that look mean? It was an unreadable gaze.
Luagarne calmly said only what needed to be said. "Once this matter is settled, I am going back."
She was simply stating that it was time for her to return. She was a Frok bound by a covenant; she did not have complete freedom. Encrid told her to do so.
"And don't speak formally to me. Don't use honorifics," she added, her voice full of insistence. Encrid nodded.
As if such things mattered, he was already busy preparing for tomorrow. He had used up all his Whistle Daggers. And unless his opponent—that cultist bastard—was an idiot, he wouldn't just retreat like this. Judging by how they withdrew today, they would return. They hadn't lingered, pulling back quickly to preserve their forces.
They can always make more ladders.
Since the cultist had seen him overexerting himself, he would likely attempt another attack.
Should I bait him?
Now that he had shown what he was capable of, it seemed feasible.
"We need to deal with the cultist before you go, don't we?" he asked Luagarne. He was implying that it would be troublesome if she left right away.
"Obviously."
Good, this might work.
Krais approached from the side and whispered, "I think they'll be back tomorrow."
This guy, Krais, had an incredibly sharp mind. He was quick-witted, too.
"I'm thinking of baiting them."
"Ah, that sounds great."
With just those few words, Krais immediately began drawing up something resembling a plan. It had a good chance of working. No, it definitely seemed like it would work. Krais’s mind instantly grasped a direction that would mess with the enemy’s head, and he ran with it.
Thus, he rested well for a day. No one disturbed Encrid. They couldn't completely let their guard down, as some of the retreated monster horde remained within line of sight.
However, if there was one thing that had changed from the day before...
"Are we going to let those monsters take our village?!"
...it was that their spirits were overflowing. Something Encrid had shown them had set a fire in everyone’s hearts.
Before that fire could even begin to fade, the morning sun rose.
The monster horde brought out things resembling ladders again. This time, they had also prepared ropes with grappling hooks attached to the ends. They seemed to be woven from tree vines; though they weren't many, they looked like they could be formidable weapons.
"Those bastards," Deutsch ground his teeth.
Encrid opened the gates once more. And he repeated the exact same performance as yesterday.
A recovering body—a Regenerative Body, was it? Since the Isolation Technique supported his body, it worked. There was no strain. And so, he went on another rampage.
The dual-wielding Monster Slaughterer.
Just as that name began to spread, after a brief, rapid clash that could easily be called a short, decisive skirmish, Encrid coughed up blood.
Cough!
Two days in a row. It was a clear sign that he was overexerting himself. Beside him, Luagarne intentionally left an opening, and her left arm was severed. A gnoll bit down on the forearm, cleanly severed below the elbow, and lifted it high.
Gwoooooh!
It sounded like a cry of victory.
The horde of monsters and demonic beasts retreated once more, but Encrid had spat blood, and Luagarne had lost her left arm.
On the afternoon of the third day, the monsters charged again.
"Don't you guys ever get tired of this?!" a mercenary standing atop the barricade shouted as Encrid stepped outside the wall once more.
Coughing up blood as he fought, Encrid held his ground for an even shorter duration than the day before before retreating. Dark, heavy shadows began to pool beneath his eyes.
Before anyone knew it, the number of demonic beasts had been cut in half. Their numbers had plummeted to fewer than five hundred. This meant that the number of beasts sliced, diced, and pierced by Encrid’s hands was close to five hundred.
It was a magnificent feat accomplished in just three days, but in the end, Encrid’s limbs went limp, and he had to be carried back by the vigilantes. By then, the number of incoming arrows had also dwindled.
The log barricade held once more. It felt as though they could make it if they could just hold out for another two or three days.
The next day, Encrid stepped out with even darker shadows under his eyes and a deathly pale complexion. His fatigue seemed to have reached its absolute limit, yet like a candle burning its own life to illuminate its surroundings, he blazed once more. He performed with godlike prowess.
"Uwoooooh! Monster Slaughterer!" a deep-voiced vigilante roared.
Inspired by him, twenty vigilantes rushed outside to engage in hand-to-hand combat. It was a battle fought right in front of the barricade, prepared for a quick retreat. Thanks to this, there were no casualties.
Still, it was a close call. The damage to the barricade had mounted, and now it seemed dangerous even without the enemy using ladders.
On this day, Encrid truly seemed like a monster slaughterer. He managed to cull a whopping hundred demonic beasts, just like on the first day. The remaining forces fell below three hundred. No ghouls were left, and the number of demonic beasts had drastically decreased. There were only about two hundred gnolls and fewer than a hundred hyena demonic beasts left.
And so, the morning of the fourth day dawned.
*
The cultist knew how to wear people down to their deaths.
Of course, when he first witnessed Encrid’s performance, his immediate instinct had been to turn tail and run.
A knight! He’s at least an associate knight!
Knights were beings of overwhelming martial power that could not be opposed; fleeing was naturally the correct choice. But as he prepared to withdraw, he realized something was lacking for a knight.
Knights were supposed to be inhuman monsters. Once, from a distance of over fifty paces, he had nearly died from a single arrow thrown by an associate knight’s bare hand. The cultist knew their power all too well.
But this was the frontier. Why would an associate knight come to a place like this? There was nothing here for them. At most, there were only about thirty knight orders in the kingdom. And among them, those who could truly be called knights numbered only one or two. They were strategic weapons, existences that decided the course of battle.
Knight orders were usually composed of associate knights. Even they could alter the tide of a battlefield. After all, on the battlefields of the continent, small, elite groups of martial power were what truly mattered.
But this is the frontier. Why would a knight order come all the way here?
It wasn't as if knight orders had nothing better to do. In other words, his opponent was neither a knight nor an associate knight. The man had displayed astonishing martial prowess, but he had retreated quickly. He repeated similar actions the next day, but it was like a mage who had mortgaged his soul. It was a desperate struggle with no regard for his own life.
He’s still holding out?
But the opponent did hold out. Yet, after being harassed like this for several days, the man was finally coughing up blood. All that remained was a Frok with a severed arm and villagers who had run out of arrows and stones.
"Heh."
The cultist smiled with satisfaction. Now, he would lead the monster horde to swallow them whole, chew them up, and devour them. Thus, he would realize his dream of infesting this land with monsters. He would propagate his god’s will in that manner.
Even if everything crumbled once things escalated and knights arrived... what he stood to gain here in the meantime was by no means small.
"Let’s go."
The cultist led the monsters. The morning of the fourth day. It was the day of the final showdown. Previously, they hadn't stubbornly charged all the way to the log barricade. But now, it was the end.
The cultist sent them forward to batter the barricade. Atop the wall, he spotted the panther. He must be somewhere near there. After all, that panther had been by the madman’s side all this time. It was only natural. Learning from repeated situations always created stereotypes.
Come out, you bastard.
It was just as they were battering the barricade.
"Krais was right," a voice spoke from behind.
"Indeed."
He flinched, the hairs on his neck standing on end. Whipping his head around to look behind him... he saw a man with dark circles under his eyes and a pale complexion, standing alongside the Frok.
"You were hard to get a look at," the pale-faced man spoke, wiping beneath his eyes with a finger.
A black substance rubbed off onto his hand.
This was a guy who was supposed to be coughing up blood and rolling on the ground, so why did his complexion and skin look incredibly clear and healthy? Was it just an illusion?