Chapter 358: Wait, Stop
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 358: Wait, Stop
Catching an arrow mid-flight was a feat that bordered on the miraculous.
Even when expected, it was a stunt; but this arrow had whistled in suddenly, aimed at the back of his head.
He hadn't merely sensed and dodged it—he had caught it.
It was a feat achieved through the perfect harmony of Sensory Technique and Single-Point Focus.
“...Wow.”
“W-What was that?!”
The mouths of two trainees fell open. The remaining three were utterly speechless.
It was only natural for them to be shocked. One was in awe of the catch, while the other was startled by the sudden, lethal flight of the projectile.
Encrid looked up at the top of the outer wall.
There stood a figure who hadn't even bothered to hide his presence, though his face was covered. He stood perfectly still on the narrow ledge of the wall, displaying an exceptional sense of balance.
His clothes were ordinary: a loose-fitting shirt and cropped trousers that ended at his ankles. Perhaps he didn't wear black because it wasn't nighttime? At least he had the decency to wear a mask.
Encrid tilted his head to the side. The opponent didn't make another move after firing the arrow, looking as if he were waiting for a response.
“Now...”
Just as the opponent opened his mouth, Encrid hurled the arrow back without hesitation. With a sharp ping, the shaft blurred through the air toward the intruder.
It was the Valen-style Mercenary Sword technique: ‘Strike While They Speak.’
Faced with an arrow thrown using a variation of a throwing-knife style, the man leaped to the side, moving horizontally along the wall.
He’s light on his feet, Encrid thought.
While his mind processed the observation, his hands were already moving in tandem. Immediately after using the arrow as bait, he drew and threw another blade.
Screeech!
It was a Whistle Dagger. He used one of his few remaining daggers—rare items he wouldn't normally squander—right here.
As the Whistle Dagger flew at a terrifying speed with its signature cheerful whistle, the man on the wall flipped backward to avoid it.
Encrid’s right foot dug into the ground. He bent his knees, coiling his strength for the recoil. Though described step-by-step, these actions occurred in a single, fluid instant.
Boom!
Encrid charged forward, leaving a crater in the dirt floor of the training ground. His body propelled forward at a terrifying velocity. Not even an afterimage registered in the trainees' eyes.
“What a lunatic!” a voice cried out from beyond the wall.
Ignoring it, Encrid leaped toward the top of the wall. Though not fully armored, he still carried three swords. The five trainees watched with wide eyes, their jaws dropping even further. Despite the weight of his leather armor and three blades, he ascended effortlessly. The sheer lightness of his movements felt like a cheat code.
A mystery, a cheat, magic—whatever it was, it defied logic.
Encrid hooked his fingertips over the edge of the wall and pulled himself up.
How on earth did he do that? Was it magic?
Just as the trainees' minds were spinning, Esther, who had woken up at some point, watched the scene with half-closed eyes. Naturally, there was no magic involved. It was a feat accomplished by pure physical capability—strength that had thrown the very concept of limits to the dogs.
Encrid pulled his body straight up. In that brief moment, two men waiting behind the wall drew their shortswords. They leaped from their positions, swinging their blades in a pincer movement.
Two blades rushed in, aiming for Encrid’s wrists.
Just as his body cleared the halfway point of the wall, Encrid let go with his left hand.
Whoosh, whoosh.
The two blades sliced through empty air where his hand had been. Meanwhile, Encrid firmly gripped the ledge with his right hand and hauled himself upward once more.
His body shot into the air. As he hovered momentarily, he saw the panic in the two men waiting below. Their pupils shook. Because he had risen with the sun at his back, he looked like a dark shadow suddenly materializing out of the light.
“Wait!” one of them shouted.
Encrid didn't care. Why should he show mercy to those who had attacked first?
Encrid twisted his body in midair, drawing his Gladius in his right hand and Spark in his left. From the attackers' perspective, it looked as if light was bursting from Encrid’s eyes. With the sun behind him, it was an eerie, bizarre sight.
He seemed to pause in midair for a split second before his hands moved in a flash. A dark shadow, glowing eyes, and two streaks of light flared out savagely to the left and right.
Clang! Thud!
With his right hand, he drew and slashed in one motion. With his left, he drew and thrust. Two different styles of swordsmanship struck the two enemies simultaneously.
The man on the right managed to raise his sword in time to block, but the one on the left stood no chance. The blade pierced straight through his shoulder. And even that was only because he was lucky.
Encrid had executed the strike by incorporating a realization he had just gained.
Still not enough.
He needed to imbue his left hand with Moment’s Will and his right hand with the Crushing Sword.
Learning while teaching, reflecting while fighting. The path he had to walk was finally beginning to reveal itself.
Encrid landed on the ground with a heavy thud. Dropping to one knee, he raised his head, an involuntary smile playing on his lips.
Was there ever a wrong time to learn? Every moment, every encounter was a teacher and a lesson. From Krang’s back, he had learned how to channel momentum; from the techniques Andrew had polished, he had learned to blend swordsmanship with wrestling.
There was so much to learn here. For that alone, Encrid felt satisfied with coming to the capital.
He was simply that kind of man.
However, from the perspective of his opponents, it was an utterly terrifying sight. Leaping over a wall in a single bound, parrying one man in midair, punching a hole through another’s shoulder, and then landing only to smile?
The light gleaming in his eyes could easily be mistaken for madness.
“He’s a fucking lunatic!” one of the attackers screamed.
Encrid paid no attention to their shouting. Who were they? His intuition told him everything he needed to know.
Is there any difference between them and the ones who came before?
Not really.
Then all he had to do was cut them down. He felt no difference between them and the groups of assassins who had ambushed him on the road. They were of the same breed.
Just as he made up his mind to move, the men—assassins trained in their craft—read his momentum. They were top-tier at sensing intent, and as Encrid prepared to unleash his onslaught, they hurriedly spoke up.
“Stop!”
It was a shout meant to de-escalate, but it was useless. They had already been designated as enemies.
Whoosh.
He closed the distance. His steps were so fast it was difficult to tell when they started or ended. At the same time, a long line was drawn overhead.
There were three attackers in total. Only the one who had shot the arrow from the wall remained unharmed. That man had shouted "Stop," but before the word could leave his lips, a blade came crashing down from above.
It looked as if the blade had suddenly materialized as the space between them vanished.
Fuck!
The assassin didn't even have time to curse. He drew his sword and raised it faster than he ever had in his life. In his hands were two curved scimitars—his signature weapons. He was a prominent figure who commanded a faction of the Assassin Union.
Block and deflect.
The moment he resolved to do so, his two scimitars rose to meet the incoming streak of light.
I blocked it!
Yet, strangely, the moment the light met his blades seemed to stretch out endlessly. His thoughts continued to flow in slow motion. He focused like never before, thinking solely of the act of blocking.
It was fast.
A realization dawned on him. The angle of the draw, the grip, the way force was applied...
Yes, that’s how it’s done.
The method of swinging the weapon, of applying force, came to his mind. But why was there still no impact?
Staring at the streak of light, he saw it descending bit by bit. The blade drew a perfectly steady, unwavering line. Only then did his two weapons collide with the blade that looked like a streak of light.
That was the end of his thoughts.
Boom!
Crack, crack, crunch!
Encrid had imbued his swinging sword with Moment’s Will.
What was speed based on?
“Agility is, first and foremost, the power generated by properly contracting your muscles. Those slow bastards who only bulk up their bodies like lumps of meat are all fucking useless,” Rem had once said.
“It is muscle, brother,” Audin had said.
Muscle. More precisely, muscle that one knows how to use and control properly.
The muscles of his right thigh, waist, abdominals, shoulders, forearms, and grip contracted, adding explosive speed. To this, he added a twist of his ankles and waist, lending vertical centrifugal force to the sword falling from above.
The sword that fell after everything aligned was like a bolt of lightning. It was a strike that reinterpreted Ragna’s lightning drop in his own way. It was a blow that required the opponent to be at least an Associate Knight to block.
It was a Will of downward slashing, not a Will of thrusting.
Thus, the outcome was inevitable.
The lightning that fell, backed by trained muscle, crushed the opponent’s two scimitars downward. The initial explosion was the sound of metal clashing. The subsequent cracking sounds were the bones in the scimitar-wielder’s hands and arms shattering. The final crunch was the sound of the blunt back of the scimitar being forced backward and smashing into his collarbone.
With a single strike, Encrid crushed his enemy.
“Fuuuuh.”
As he let out a long breath, the remaining two didn't even dare to attack. The one with a hole in his shoulder held a poison called ‘Ten Breaths’ in his hand, but he couldn't even move his fingers.
As Encrid exhaled with his back to the shadow cast by the wall, his breath drifted upward like steam. It was a phenomenon caused by the intense heat rising in his body from the sudden, violent movement.
“'Stop'? 'Wait'? Do you have something to say?” Encrid finally spoke.
Fuck, you took your sweet time asking, the attacker thought.
The man who had broken his fingers while blocking the Gladius struggled to stand. “We came to deliver a warning.”
“A warning?”
Was it just his imagination, or did it feel like they had come to get beaten half to death rather than deliver a warning? Encrid stared at him, gesturing for him to continue.
“Ugh... We came to tell you that this isn't a place for you to stay. Turn back.”
This came from the man with the pierced shoulder.
“You're the ones who attacked out of nowhere.”
“It was at a level you could easily dodge.”
“Don't make me laugh. Just for what you've done so far, I’d be well within my rights to chop both your heads off right now.”
The moment those words left his mouth, the man with the pierced shoulder threw a smoke bomb to the ground. With a pop, smoke billowed up.
Watching this, Encrid thought these men were seriously underestimating him. Did they really think a smoke bomb would work?
Sheathing Spark, he thrust his Gladius forward and swung it flat-side first, the blade whipping up a wind like a massive fan.
Whoosh!
Physical force that surpassed certain limits was no different from a spell. The mass of smoke was swept aside instantly.
Encrid expected them to keep attacking. Because they always had.
But his expectations were shattered.
I let my guard down, Encrid admitted.
He had never imagined they would actually run, but they had all fled.
“What happened?”
Andrew ran out of the mansion belatedly, fully armed. Behind him ran the five trainees, with Mac following close behind. Though Mac had transitioned to acting as a butler, it was clear he hadn't neglected his training.
Given the atmosphere in the capital, it was no time to put down the sword and live in idle comfort. There were too many irritating things here.
“They're already gone.”
Andrew had already guessed there were intruders. His eyes drifted to the body on the ground. “What about this guy?”
“He attacked, so I gave him a strike, and he died.”
His arms were broken, and his collarbone was shattered. The shock had traveled straight to his internal organs; his heart had been crushed by the back of his own weapon.
“Unbelievable. Scaling a noble’s mansion wall in broad daylight? Not even under the cover of night?” Andrew said, looking at the dead man and the traces of smoke. Anger laced his voice.
Encrid was busy piecing together the situation. They were an assassin group. Why attack now?
Sachsen was away, and everyone else was scattered.
There couldn't have been a better time. What did that imply?
They're watching us.
Beside him, Andrew ground his teeth. “These bastards, seriously...”
His pride was wounded. Encrid roughly wiped the blood off his sword, sheathed it, and swept his hair back. Up until a moment ago, things had actually been quite good. He had gained a certain realization.
To monsters like Ragna or Rem, it might be a wall they broke a dozen times a day, but for Encrid, achieving it without today’s repetition would have required sheer luck.
Then, a sudden thought struck him. Could he somehow pull that luck toward himself at will? To do that, he first needed to understand the current situation.
“What are the knights and the knight orders doing?”
It was the core of the matter. He asked, piercing straight to the heart of the issue.
Andrew’s lower lip twitched. What spoke for the kingdom’s military might? Naturally, it was the knights. If there were no knights, the kingdom would be crushed by Azpen in an instant. Local skirmishes weren't the issue; if Naurilia’s military power had been even slightly inferior, Azpen would have ruthlessly deployed its full force to cross the border.
The reason they ultimately couldn't cross the Border Guard was because the knight orders existed. Azpen had judged that if they fought to the bitter end, they would be the ones to lose.
Grasping and predicting the situation—that was what was needed right now.
Encrid thought as he analyzed the situation. Big-Eyes is usually the expert at this kind of thing, though.
But since he wasn't here, he had to make do. If you don't have teeth, you chew with your gums.
“Do you know the current state of the country?” Andrew asked after a moment of thought.
“No,” Encrid replied crisply.
His tone made it clear he couldn't care less. Watching him, Andrew felt he finally understood why Krang held this crazy captain in such high regard. How many people actually knew how to admit they didn't know something?
He was upright, righteous, and solid. That was the impression he gave.
And what about his skill?
He’s a monster. A total monster.
Andrew was almost curious about the dead man’s final moments. Why did the bastard look like he was faintly smiling? It was because a realization had dawned upon him at the moment of death, but there was no way Andrew could know that.
“Right now, there isn't a single knight in the capital. Let's go inside to discuss the details.”
From here on, it wasn't a conversation for the trainees to hear.
“Mac,” Andrew said, turning around.
“Yes, I'll clean this up.” Mac’s expression was grim.
Encrid thought that was only natural. If he were in Mac’s shoes, having a lord who staked his entire fortune on a hand destined to lose would give him a massive headache too. Though he hadn't heard the details, he could tell just by the feeling in the air.
Isn't this a losing battle?
Even without thinking deeply, it was plain to see. From Krang’s perspective, it was one danger after another. Encrid wondered if it wouldn't have been better to build up strength on the outside first and then bring in troops to crush them with sheer force.
*
“What? Did something happen?”
Rem returned before evening. “There are no decent goods to be found.”
Dunchabel was with him, and Ragna arrived a little later.
“He says it's his first time in the capital, so why does he keep claiming to know shortcuts?” The servant who had accompanied Ragna was drenched in sweat as he complained. Sending a servant with him had indeed been a stroke of genius.
Finally, Sachsen returned.
“Where do you keep wandering off to?” Rem asked, glancing at him.
They were gathered in the lounge on the first floor of the mansion. Rem had been wandering around himself, but he seemed to have completely forgotten about that. Classic Rem.
Sachsen completely ignored the remark. He didn't even look at him. He often ignored people, but this time, it was as if he truly didn't care at all.
Then, he cast his gaze toward Encrid. Seeing Sachsen, Encrid spoke.
“You're back?”
Sachsen nodded. To Encrid’s eyes, Sachsen’s nod made him look as if he were deeply troubled. It was subtle—a level of detail that couldn't be felt without the Sixth Sense.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly. This, too, was strange. Normally, he wouldn't react like that. He should have said something like, “Does something need to be wrong?” or “It seems like something happened here rather than to me.”
But he didn't. Why?
Encrid was curious, but Sachsen wasn't the type to answer just because he was asked. If he were, they wouldn't have been called the Mad Independent Platoon.
For now, hearing the rest of the explanation came first. They needed to know how the situation was unfolding.
“Andrew, keep talking.”