Chapter 324: Attack is the Best Defense
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 324: Attack is the Best Defense
Encrid took in the opponent's entire form.
He wasn't just watching; he was reading the intent behind the movement itself. For a moment, his head and eyes felt as if they were burning from the sheer weight of his concentration. The blood vessels in his temples throbbed, and his pulsing heartbeat echoed through his entire frame.
His Single-Point Focus activated with absolute intensity.
The opponent moved.
It began with a series of small gestures—a sequence of movements where Encrid read the hidden meaning within. Just as one reads between the lines of a sentence to grasp the context of seemingly meaningless words, he was deciphering the knight's actions, which others would have deemed trivial.
How did a knight’s sword move? He still couldn't fully explain the mechanics. The process remained difficult to comprehend.
But hadn't he seen it while dying countless times? Hadn't he watched it even while frozen, unable to move a muscle? Hadn't Ragna and the others shown him the way, even as they drew their final breaths?
And so, it became visible.
An incredibly brief gap, a split-second opening between drawing the sword and swinging it—a divergence.
If he hadn't repeated this day, if he didn't have this recurring experience, he would never have been able to see it. Even if he sharpened the blade of his Sensory Technique or stared with Single-Point Focus, it was a gap that would have remained invisible.
Encrid aimed for that gap.
It was a focus drawn out by pushing his senses to their absolute limits, his mind ablaze as if the blood vessels in his brain were on fire.
It was the moment just before the opponent drew his sword.
Encrid felt time slow down. Yet, he calmly proceeded with his plan, moving exactly in the sequence he had envisioned.
First, he ignited his Heart of Monstrous Strength.
Thump—!
The moment his heart hammered, the blood throughout his body surged wildly. He wasn't in perfect physical condition, but this was the best he could offer. Encrid’s hand calmly gripped the hilt of his Gladius as he angled his body.
In that brief interval, the knight’s sword was fully drawn, accompanied by a grating click-clack.
Encrid caught his breath. In the dilated time, his thoughts flowed with rapid clarity. Fleeting reflections flashed by in an instant.
The first sword he had forged: the Snake Sword, a blade of deflection.
The second sword he had forged: the Lightning Thrust, a technique imbued with 'Moment’s Will' and the essence of speed.
And now, the third.
There was no such thing as a preparatory movement.
Encrid watched the opposing knight’s sword. He had seen it countless times; he had experienced it through death. He observed the swinging motion and pondered its principles: the transfer of force, the shift in the center of gravity, and the subsequent flow.
On top of that, he kept Ragna’s sword in mind—a sword of sudden strikes. Though he didn't know its name, he had engraved the movement of their clash into his mind. He also added the reading of intent, mimicking the Elven talent.
He read it again and again in rapid succession. When he added the experience accumulated from this repeated day, the divergence in the gap came vividly into view.
Just before drawing and swinging.
It couldn't be any faster, nor any slower.
Every eye in the tent was fixed on them. Ragna’s pupils dilated silently. It looked as if his captain’s movements and the movements of the man who had suddenly burst in were overlapping.
Sinar’s gaze was no different. What is he...?
It was happening before anyone could even comprehend the situation. Dunchabel and Krais were lost, and Esther was only just pushing herself up, her fur bristling. Amidst the strange silence, the intruder drew his sword, and Encrid exuded a peculiar aura.
Whether everyone was watching or not, Encrid did what he had to do.
I can't block it.
That was Encrid’s conclusion. Then what should he do? If blocking was impossible, he would strike first. He hadn't tried it yet, but he saw the possibility.
The image of his hands bleeding while trying to block Ragna’s sword was vivid. At that moment, even as he died, lightning had struck in his mind. Sword, knight, power, defense, failure—everything came together to yield a single answer.
If I cannot block... I will strike first.
Encrid showcased his third sword.
A heavy sword, a technique based on the Heavy Sword Style. He layered Will onto the style—a Will he was all too familiar with from having suffered under it countless times: Intimidation. Though he couldn't wield perfect Intimidation, he had honed it enough to blend it into his swordsmanship.
It was a style that had astonished Ragna when he first saw it. Of course, since that day had vanished, Ragna would be astonished anew today.
To this, Encrid mixed in the techniques of the Valen-style Mercenary Sword. Normally, an advance begins with a step forward, but Encrid stepped out to the side.
The knight’s eyes flicked down to his feet. What is—?
It was a trivial detail, but it was enough to sow a seed of doubt. The knight’s sword didn't slow down, but a gap had opened in his thoughts.
Encrid aimed for that exact timing.
Thud.
He kicked off the ground. He slid his left foot to the side and channeled power into his right foot, his trailing leg.
Valen-style Mercenary Sword: Cross-stepping.
It was a stride designed to annoy opponents with sharp eyes—footwork meant to pry open and exploit the tiniest of gaps, raising his chances of success by even a fraction.
Speed won't cut it.
He already knew that. So, he would rely on momentum, not speed.
Encrid’s trick worked. The knight didn't falter, but his sword didn't fly forward either. Having seized the timing, Encrid surged.
Clang!
He drew his sword and held it vertically. From that upright position, he exerted pressure based on Will—on Intimidation.
The knight moved his sword reflexively. Senses honed over years of training screamed at him.
You must block this.
The third swordsmanship: the Crushing Sword.
Like a mountain pressing down on the earth, like a finger crushing an ant, it exerted absolute oppression. Through sheer pressure, it stripped the opponent of choices. In other words, it forced them to block.
It was slow compared to the Lightning Thrust executed with Spark. However, the momentum based on 'Will' exerted sufficient pressure.
Though he hadn't let his guard down, the knight, Jamal, had not anticipated this. No, he couldn't have. Who could have expected someone to tear through a tent, instantly steal the timing, and strike with a heavy sword?
The draw was slow, but the acceleration that followed was rapid. A moderately fast sword traced a trajectory that forced the opponent to defend.
Even so, the knight was not easily defeated.
Impudent.
Reflexively, his sword vibrated, parrying the descending blade.
Hummm. The sword wailed in a span of time too brief to be called an instant. It was a sound Encrid couldn't hear. He had already poured everything into the swing, leaving nothing to spare for what came next.
Boom!
An explosive sound erupted.
Crack!
The sound of twisting bones followed.
Encrid felt weightless. An absurd recoil surged from the old shortsword—one that could have been snapped with bare hands. Along with the weightlessness, his body flew backward with a whoosh. A heavy thud against his back was accompanied by a wave of pain.
It burned. He had crashed back-first into the brazier.
Encrid rolled to the side.
"Ah!" Krais let out a startled cry.
Flames erupted from the overturned brazier. The explanation was long, but in reality, it had all unfolded in a split second. It was as if the man who tore through the tent had said a single word and immediately engaged in battle.
Encrid’s head slumped to the side. For a brief moment, he lost consciousness.
Right after Encrid collapsed, Ragna reacted. It happened at the exact same time Krais cried out.
Boom!
A second explosion erupted. It was the sound of the knight slashing upward against Ragna, who had unleashed his sudden strike.
Ragna was also sent flying. He soared through the air, but unlike Encrid, he didn't roll. Leaping backward, he drove his sword into the ground. The blade, firmly embedded in the dirt, drew a long line with a harsh screeech.
"Hup."
Ragna took a sharp breath. He could tell from that single clash: this opponent was by no means below him.
Instead of attacking, Sinar beat Encrid’s burning back with a blanket. With a few rapid slaps, the flames died out.
A sharp crack echoed from Ragna’s sword. The single clash had brought the weapon to the brink of breaking. Ragna discarded it and drew another—the weapon Squire Bill had used. While the quality of the sword belonging to the knight named Aya was better, this one had a length and weight more familiar to him.
Shring.
He aimed. Regulating his breathing, he rose from his kneeling posture and took a stance. Ragna prepared to fight.
"Stop."
Encrid spoke while still lying down. The knight’s eyes turned toward him. Ragna stopped his advance. Sinar quietly stepped back, placing her hand on Naidel.
Anyone could tell just by looking. Monstrous.
Was such a feat even possible with a single shortsword that looked ready to snap? To be able to do that meant a power other than mere physical strength resided in his body. In other words, he was a knight.
"You don't seem like the kind of person who belongs here," Sinar said.
The knight remained silent. He quietly stared at the fallen man—the one who had suddenly landed a blow on him.
Before the burns on his back could even heal, Encrid had been scorched by flames once again. Since his armor wasn't magical, it couldn't block the heat. He had suffered burns along his spine, though fortunately, they weren't severe thanks to Sinar’s quick reaction.
The injuries elsewhere were far worse.
He makes giants look like nothing.
Both of his shoulders were dislocated. And it didn't stop there. The Crushing Sword had landed, but the subsequent counterattack had been brutal.
If I hadn't deflected the force at the very end...
It wouldn't have ended with just dislocations. The webbing of both his hands had torn, blood dripping steadily. It was only natural. Just before the clash, the knight, Jamal, had unleashed his specialty: Blade Echo. It was a technique that used high-speed vibration to add explosive power.
The knight said nothing, and Encrid coughed, spitting up a bit of blood. He waited in silence. He had expected this to some extent. Since he had dreamed of being a knight, he knew a great deal about them. He understood the honor they spoke of.
Which meant he understood what the knight had said.
"Didn't you say only once would be enough?" Encrid spoke.
The knight stared silently at him. "What was that?"
"The Crushing Sword."
"Excellent."
Sheathe.
The knight sheathed his sword. Ragna still held his blade, its tip pointed forward.
Encrid stood up using only the strength of his legs. Since his dislocated shoulders prevented him from raising his arms, he swung them from his waist to rest a hand on Ragna’s shoulder. It was painful and practically an acrobatic feat, but he managed.
"Don't fight him today," Encrid said.
Ragna quietly stepped back. He possessed a talent hailed as genius; he, too, knew the truth. The opponent was a knight. To put it coldly, if they fought him now, they would die a hundred times out of a hundred.
"Your name?" Encrid asked.
"Jamal," the opponent answered readily.
"Are you with the Ducal Knights?"
"I am."
There was no hiding it. Unless he went back on his word right now and slaughtered them all, he had no reason to hesitate. To stand proud anywhere was a knight’s duty. He had stated the minimum terms of courtesy, and the opponent had met them, so he had to uphold his remaining honor.
"It was an honor," Encrid said.
No matter how the situation turned out, he was sincere.
Jamal’s eyes gleamed. What was with this guy? And what was with this situation? Yet, absurdly enough, a laugh escaped him.
"An honor?" he asked, unable to suppress a chuckle.
"It's not every day one gets to face a knight’s sword."
"But you swung first."
"I felt like I’d be done for if I waited."
Did he have good instincts, or was his judgment just that sharp? Or was he simply lucky? Was it a stroke of blind luck? Jamal couldn't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it.
There had been no tension from the start. Now, even his killing intent had vanished. With his desire to kill gone, he looked like nothing more than an ordinary man—hardly believable as a knight.
"I trusted you because you spoke of honor."
"You will go far."
Jamal was a knight. Naturally, he could recognize talent. He could see not only current skill but also potential for growth. At a glance, the blonde man with red eyes stood out—Ragna was the one who captured attention immediately.
But sometimes, separate from talent, there were people who possessed something that defied description. The man before him was one of them.
"We will meet again," Jamal said.
Now that things had turned out this way, he actually felt at ease. Since he had promised on his honor, he had to keep it. Even Abnayor wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Hadn't he also agreed to only a single strike?
"The honor is mine."
Standing upright, Encrid felt his thigh and calf muscles throbbing. For some reason, it felt like every time he crossed the walls of agony, ignorance, and despair mentioned by the Ferryman, his body was left in tatters.
"Attack is the best defense. I liked that."
Having said his piece, Jamal turned around.
"...We're just letting him go?" Dunchabel asked, looking uneasy.
"Then what, you want to fight him? Unless you're all dying to get killed, we have to let him go. Honestly, we should probably guide him on his way out," Krais chimed in. He shuddered as he spoke, his intuition telling him exactly how terrifying the opponent's martial prowess was.
"Ah, Krais. We can't afford to cause a scene anyway, so please guide him out," Encrid said, making Krais’s eyes widen.
"What did you say?"
"A knight’s sword is safer than a dagger held by a common thug."
"Do you say that knowing he’s an enemy?" Krais whispered. He lowered his voice in case the knight might hear.
Yes, the Ducal Knights were the enemy. He knew that. But today, they had spoken of honor.
"Of course. We must also uphold our end."
They had to ensure his departure was smooth. Krais was not stupid. If the sentries spotted that man and raised an alarm, it would only blow things out of proportion. But who else could they send? Dunchabel? Ragna? Sinar? Since subduing him with force was out of the question, the best option was to have someone with a working brain see him off.
Martial power didn't matter at all. The opponent was a knight.
With a tearful face, Big-Eyes walked outside.
"Damn it."
Of course, he wasn't without complaints, so he muttered a useless curse under his breath.