Chapter 384: Saved
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 384: Saved
"Half a day. From the very beginning, my plan was only to buy us half a day."
Krang had said those words just before the fight began. It was the first Matthew had heard of it.
The moment the words registered, Matthew glanced outside. The sun had not yet set; it wasn't even twilight.
Do we really have to hold out until evening?
He knew it wouldn't be easy.
Whoosh!
With a slight flick of his wrist, the tip of the whip lashed out like a living thing.
Without even looking, the opponent struck—not at the tip, but at the leather cord near Matthew's elbow.
Though it was a mere tap, the force traveling through the whip vanished instantly, leaving it limp and unraveled. The man had precisely severed the point where the momentum was transmitted.
Matthew felt his rhythm abruptly cut off, but he gritted his teeth and poured strength into his grip. Swinging his arm wide, he launched the weighted end of the whip forward once more, as if throwing a punch.
Whoosh!
The whip sliced through empty air.
Meanwhile, Encrid swung his sword. It was a vertical strike, descending with the fury of a thunderbolt. Even Matthew could feel the sheer power packed into the blow.
If he blocks it, there will be an opening.
Even an Associate Knight would have no choice but to create a gap when facing such force.
But the opponent simply pushed against the area just above the ricasso of Encrid’s swinging blade. Rather than clashing force against force, he used a subtle technique to deflect the incoming power to the side.
For a split second, Encrid’s body lurched. Because he had put his full weight into the strike, his balance was momentarily shattered.
Yet, even as he stumbled, Encrid spun on the spot and drew Spark, thrusting it forward. It was an unorthodox move, a technique honed through his victory over Aisia.
It was the thrust known as Moment’s Will.
Whoosh!
The opponent twisted his waist, dodging the lethal point as easily as if he were avoiding a pebble thrown by a child. His evasion was so nonchalant it seemed entirely natural.
Immediately after, Encrid sheathed Spark, gripped Silver with both hands, and unleashed a flurry of swings, thrusts, and slashes, constantly shifting his footwork to alter the distance.
Matthew, too, kept lashing his whip, even as his momentum was repeatedly neutralized. Their companion wielding the trident also thrust her weapon whenever an opening appeared. Despite her injuries, she was undoubtedly highly skilled, yet...
The opponent didn't even bother to properly dodge the trident. Like shooing away an annoying fly, he merely twisted his body to let the tip slide past or deflected it with his sword before it could reach him, throwing off its trajectory.
Matthew’s whip was proving to be just as harmless.
Only Encrid was barely holding his ground. And that was precisely why Matthew felt the onset of despair.
We have to hold out against someone like this until evening?
It was absurd. It wouldn't be surprising if Encrid collapsed this very second.
A blade grazed Encrid’s cheek. A drop of blood sprayed into the air from the shallow cut. Ignoring the wound, Encrid threw his body sideways and swung his sword horizontally.
Whoosh!
Though it was a slash capable of rending the air itself, the opponent merely took a casual step back. Encrid’s sword swept through the empty space where the man had stood a heartbeat before. He evaded without making so much as a sound against the floor.
Watching this, a profound sense of futility filled Matthew’s chest.
The man was a wall. A different breed of existence. Their talents were on entirely different levels; even their births were fundamentally different. To hold out against such a monster...
It’s impossible.
Despair and agony flooded his heart. Strength began to drain from the hand holding his whip. He couldn't stop his spirit from crumbling.
Whipping the opponent felt like striking a sheer cliff face. At this rate, he wouldn't be able to chip away at it even if he struck for a hundred years. It was an obvious truth: when could a whip ever demolish a mountain blocking one's path?
In the meantime, their trident-wielding companion suffered a fatal wound.
It happened despite Encrid’s ferocious onslaught—rushing, swinging, and attacking so relentlessly that one had to wonder if he was even breathing.
The opponent had thrown a single dagger backward. Slipping through the gaps in her breathing, the flying blade tore deeply into the woman's neck. The sheer skill displayed in that casual throw was bone-chilling.
Blood spurted and gushed. As the companion clutched her throat, Krang, who had been watching, rushed over and tightly bound the wound with a cloth.
His voice drifted over faintly. "Hold on."
There was no time to look back. Yet, a single thought had been gnawing at Matthew’s mind for some time now.
Is there any point to this?
If it meant saving Krang, then yes, it had meaning. If holding out would achieve that, he would gladly die. But they couldn't even manage that. They wouldn't be able to hold the line any longer, and Krang would die anyway. Should he have let Krang keep running?
No. If he did that, his spirit would die first. Hadn't Krang, his lord, said exactly that?
Just as black ink began to stain his mind—
"Ha!"
Boom!
A thunderous roar erupted alongside a fierce shout. It was loud enough to make his ears ring. Both the shout and the subsequent explosion were deafening, assaulting his eardrums. The shout carried immense momentum, and the clash that followed bore an equal amount of devastating impact.
Matthew looked at the man clashing swords, blood dripping from his flank. He saw the back of a black-haired head. He saw a broad back. He saw a man whose momentum hadn't waned in the slightest, unlike his own.
"Got you," Encrid said.
"I let you," the opponent replied.
The words came from the enemy, whose curly brown hair fell over his forehead in clumped strands. Only then did Matthew get a proper look at the enemy’s face.
"Let's keep going," Encrid spoke.
What was that lingering in his voice?
Before they knew it, their positions had shifted. It was the result of Encrid’s relentless, hammering strikes. Thanks to that, Matthew could see Encrid’s face, and the sight sent a sharp pang through his chest. From the tips of his toes to the crown of his head, every hair on his body stood on end.
Matthew knew. They could never hold out until evening. And Encrid defeating this opponent was an incredibly distant prospect.
As proof, blood was streaming from Encrid’s flank, his cheek was slashed, and his left forearm guard hung in tatters, sliced open at some point.
And yet...
He’s smiling.
Encrid was smiling. Even as their blades clashed and his momentum was repeatedly severed, he kept smiling.
The moment Matthew saw that, the dark paint of despair staining his heart began to fade. Sunlight pierced through from somewhere, a white beam cutting through the black ink.
Strength returned to Matthew’s arms. He raised his whip and lashed out.
A few more exchanges took place. During that time, Matthew dodged three flying daggers. He had to admit, he wouldn't have avoided any of them if luck hadn't been on his side. Even those three daggers only had that much power because Encrid had interfered. Had he been alone, blocking them would have been utterly out of the question.
The fourth dagger, which he failed to dodge, embedded itself in his thigh.
I thought he would aim for my neck right away.
Even when dealing with an opponent far below his level, the enemy prioritized neutralizing mobility first.
No, that too must be because of Encrid.
Because Encrid was there, the dagger had ended up in his leg instead of his throat.
Matthew retreated. At this point, he would only be a hindrance. Krang, who was behind him, slipped an arm under his armpit to support him.
"You mustn't go any closer," Krang warned.
"I know that much. He’s going to lose, isn't he?"
"He is holding out."
"But why is he smiling?"
"...I don't know."
Yet, even as Krang spoke, his own eyes shone. Matthew had managed to hold on, sustained by whatever it was Encrid was showing them.
Even so, it was still far too early for the sun to set.
"When is the backup arriving?" Matthew asked.
Protecting Krang was his duty. But before that, above that, or perhaps in another form, a different wish naturally arose within him.
We cannot let him die here.
Encrid had to live. Matthew found himself prepared to throw his own body in the way if necessary to make that happen. The reason? He didn't know. A surge of exhilaration simply flooded his entire body. He was consumed by the sole conviction that Encrid was not meant to die here.
"If that fellow has any wits about him, he'll arrive a bit early," Krang said, pulling over a chair for Matthew to sit on. Then, he examined the wound on Matthew’s thigh.
Krang was no ordinary man either. To tend to an injury with such composure in a situation like this...
Naturally, Matthew’s gaze drifted toward their companion who had suffered the fatal wound to her neck.
"She won't die," Krang said firmly.
If they could just survive this stretch of time, she would make it. Both of them turned their heads to watch the scene.
A battle that was nearly impossible to interfere in was unfolding before them. One side severed the flow, parrying strikes like an emotionless doll. The other was like a galloping wild horse—exploding, charging forward, and sparing no ounce of strength.
*
The flow was being severed. No matter what he did, he couldn't maintain his momentum.
The opponent wasn't just a step above Aisia; he was definitely on Rem’s level. Or was he slightly below that? He didn't know. Now was not the time for such thoughts.
Encrid slashed vertically, swung horizontally, thrust, and struck with curved angles, weaving the Valen-style Mercenary Sword into his movements.
A deceptive breath. He feigned breathlessness to draw the opponent in, and the man closed the distance without hesitation. Aiming for that exact moment, Encrid thrust Spark.
Moment’s Will—the absolute pinnacle of the technique he had honed through his battle with Aisia.
The thrust was like lightning. In the blink of an eye, it reached its target. He had combined everything he learned about speed with what he had learned from the thrusting soldier on his very first "today."
Yet, it was blocked. And by a motion so simple it was almost anticlimactic.
Clink. Cl-cl-clink.
Raising a single shortsword as if playing a game, the opponent angled its flat side, causing the tip of Spark to slide harmlessly along the blade. It was a form of Soft Sword, executed with breathtaking delicacy.
Encrid released Spark in midair and lunged forward, gripping Silver. He charged, turning his own body into an arrow. He struck forward as rapidly as the opponent closed the distance.
The space shrank. He had let go of his swords to enter hand-to-hand combat range. But in an instant, the opponent retreated, leaping backward as if vanishing into thin air.
The flow was completely severed.
He ignored it.
Reaching his foot back, Encrid kicked up the falling Spark by the middle of its blade with his heel. As the sword flew above his head, he snatched it out of the air, then reached out to catch Silver before it could fall.
Watching this, the opponent closed in before he knew it and thrust his sword forward. The bastard specialized in exploiting openings. He severed the flow and fought only on his own terms.
Yet, Encrid held on.
Normally, anyone would grow weary of fighting this way. They would complain of the unfairness. They would voice their agony. Encrid did not.
I've never seen this before.
It was new. It was different. To him, every bit of it was pure ecstasy.
"I'll have to kill you, and then kill Aisia," the man spoke in a tone that suggested he was deciding what to have for dinner. It was a flat tone. A mere statement of fact.
If the man killed him, today would repeat. But if only Aisia died... would today still repeat even then?
"I have no intention of leaving while losing anything more."
No. Krang’s words also carried resolve. For someone like him who repeated today, should worry be a reason to waste the present in vain?
I don't care.
He didn't want to know anything. Right now, only one thing mattered: swinging his sword. That alone was enough for this moment.
"Hu-ha!"
He let out a shout laced with joy. As he reveled in the fight, his mind became entirely consumed by his sword and himself, the opponent and the blade, offense and defense. In that moment, joy welled up within him until it overflowed.
Encrid felt the condensed experiences of his repeated "todays" merging into one. His body moved before he could even think. It was as if a god had taken hold of his limbs and was moving them for him.
On top of that, he could see the opponent’s movements in advance.
The opponent was going to raise his sword above his right shoulder and assume a thrusting stance. Indeed, he was already gripping the hilt with both hands and lifting it.
Seeing this, Encrid’s left foot slid half a step forward. He pushed in, occupying the space. Pivoting from his waist, Encrid swung his sword down.
The downward strike aimed not for the head, but for the forearm. It seemed no different from his previous attacks, but for the first time, he stole the opponent’s timing.
It was a strike half a beat faster.
Compared to before, it could have been called an ordinary speed and an ordinary trajectory. Yet, the sword connected.
Slash!
It sliced through the opponent’s forearm guard. Blood splattered. The opponent instinctively threw out his left arm to block, retreating as he did so.
"...Hm."
The opponent was surprised, but he didn't make a fuss. My arm got cut. I see. That was his only reaction. Then, he resumed the fight.
Encrid didn't even have time to feel a sense of accomplishment. The opponent was the epitome of dryness. He used his lack of emotion as a weapon. There was no ecstasy, no competitive spirit.
So what? He would simply swing his sword. And so, Encrid did.
If it worked once, it could work twice. But it didn't work again right away. The strike that was half a beat faster had only succeeded once. In a fight, tempo is ultimately relative. Slipping into the opponent’s tempo just now had only been possible because his body had moved first in that single instant.
If he couldn't do it again? That didn't matter either.
Feigning a forward charge, Encrid stepped off the wall instead of the ground. He mimicked Aisia’s light, agile movements.
As if expecting this, the opponent swung his sword. It was a blade that rushed in diagonally, almost vanishing. It was exactly half again as fast as before. Though anticipated, the blade forced its way toward his head through an opening that was incredibly difficult to block.
Encrid hastily pulled back his extended sword to block. If he failed to avoid this, he was dead.
Clang!
He blocked it, but his right wrist was completely twisted in the process. He tried to deflect it with a twist, but that failed too. The sheer force behind the sword sent his body flying backward.
Crashing onto his back with a heavy thud, Encrid rolled and scrambled to his feet.
"Ugh."
He spat out a mouthful of blood. Blocking that last blow had ruptured his internal organs. It was a slash infused with Will. Though Encrid didn't know it, it was a technique designed to transmit shock directly into the body of the defender using Will.
His legs trembled, and his vision momentarily blurred. His body, pushed far past its limits, refused to listen to him. Encrid blinked a few times.
Then, someone stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
"If you want to kill someone, start with me. In exchange, let those behind me live. I believe my life is worth at least that much."
It was Krang.
As Encrid tried to stand, he realized his ribs were broken.
"My lord!" Matthew cried out.
Encrid finally managed to stand and spoke. "Who said you could decide that?"
The opponent had undoubtedly come here to kill Krang.
"You still have to finish things with me."
Once again, Encrid prepared himself for death. He prepared himself for the repetition of today. Was this, too, a wall? If so, he would simply climb over it.
But it wasn't a wall. At the very least, something had twisted and changed. It was definitely not the exact same "today."
The opponent raised his sword indifferently. Whether it was Krang, Encrid, or Matthew who might try to intervene, he was prepared to repeat his slashing motions until they were all dead.
At that exact moment, a chilling sixth sense flared. It came from behind. Something flew in with a rush.
Crash!
A deafening explosion rang out. A massive figure crashed through the shattered window, obliterating the frame itself as it burst inside. In an instant, he closed the distance and leaped in front of Encrid.
Without hesitation, he swung something down toward the Associate Knight.
Through his fading vision, Encrid saw what the newcomer held in his hand. It was a blade longer and thicker than an ordinary sword.
The sunset had begun to cast an orange glow through the window, and the back of the man who had shattered that light with his body came into view.
Encrid knew exactly who had entered, and he spoke.
"We're saved."