Chapter 425: Where Do I Stand Now
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 425: Where Do I Stand Now
Every hair on Encrid’s body stood on end.
It felt as though the opponent's blade could claim his life at any moment.
Could I even block it?
Before the question could fully form, his body moved on instinct.
He adjusted his footing and rested his hand on his sword belt—the optimal stance to draw his blade in a heartbeat. As Encrid shifted, dozens of potential exchanges flashed through his mind, vanishing as quickly as they appeared.
What if I throw a Whistle Dagger to distract him?
Should I rush him with the Crushing Sword?
Or try the Giant's Strike?
Single-Point Focus activated on its own, refusing to let him blink. He locked eyes with his opponent. There was a playful glint in those yellow eyes, but that playfulness alone carried enough lethality to kill him.
It truly could.
But did that change anything?
His concentration flared, and The Eye that Sees an Inch Ahead triggered. He saw the truth: every single one of his attacks would be blocked. That was the inevitable conclusion.
So what? What did it matter?
His skin crawled, his heart raced, and sweat dripped down his face despite the chill that didn't match the weather. Encrid decided to forget everything.
The tactic he had used to hold his ground against the knight he’d met before was to step forward and strike first. Back then, he’d lacked the confidence to block even a single blow, so aggression had been his only option.
What about now?
Despite being beaten and broken countless times, Encrid had kept walking, chasing a faded dream. He had swung his sword all day without rest, often tearing the skin of his palms until they bled. Not a single day had passed without that rhythm.
The sun rose anew each morning, but Encrid never let a single day go to waste.
Will it work?
A sudden, burning desire to test himself surged within him.
Can I do it now?
He wanted to try. As his passion boiled over, the world around him faded until only his opponent remained.
Is this arrogance, or is it conceit?
This was a time before he had even become the Troublemaker Squad Leader—a time that now felt like an eternity ago, thanks to the endless repetition of "today." Even back then, Encrid had felt something akin to confidence.
How could he not? He had swung his sword like a madman. He hadn't known then that the rewards of effort were not distributed equally. No—he had known, but he had chosen to ignore it. The confidence he had gained among the mediocre had sparked a reckless desire to challenge the world.
How strong am I now?
With that thought, he had gone looking for someone worth fighting. It was a step taken on the foundation of a baseless belief that he must have changed.
And the result?
In the spring of his twenty-seventh year, Encrid realized how pathetic his talent truly was. A chance skirmish had forced that realization upon him. In just five exchanges, his sword had been sent flying, and a hole had been punched through his stomach.
Clutching his bleeding abdomen, Encrid had asked, "How... old are you?"
"Twelve."
Twelve. It was utterly absurd. That was what a true genius looked like.
"Sorry. It was my first real fight," the child had said.
The memory was still vivid. He could never forget the face of that genius.
And yet.
A sword that has forgotten confidence might cut an opponent, but it can never defeat them.
"Instead of wasting time agonizing over whether to strike, just swing," Rem had told him.
"You just have to keep cutting until it cuts," was Ragna's advice on how to cleave an uncuttable rock.
"If your mind is lacking, train your body; if your body is lacking, train your mind, Brother," Audin had said, believing that training so intense it left no room for thought was the only answer.
"Just stab them when they aren't looking," was Sachsen's reply when asked how to handle a formidable foe.
Perhaps he was still testing himself out of baseless confidence, but...
Is that so wrong?
Even after building a tower of effort, it hadn't been enough. He had struggled and clawed his way up the wall to reach where he was today. Encrid wanted to quench this thirst. He wanted to point his sword at the man before him.
How far have I come?
Compared to when he met the Knight of Azpen? Compared to when he was stabbed by that young genius?
It was stubbornness and obstinacy; it was spite and sheer tenacity.
The opponent saw it, too. The man in the vest looked straight at Encrid and grinned. To think this brat would try to attack him even after he had relaxed his stance.
It was amusing. Not only the boy's stubbornness, but how naturally the people around them were being swept into the flow.
"I don't know either."
The man moved. With a sharp thud, his body seemed to stretch forward. It was an acceleration that surpassed human limits. The moment Encrid perceived it, his sword moved.
It was neither the Giant's Strike nor the Crushing Sword. His body simply reacted before his mind could process a thought.
Clang!
A thunderous boom erupted. Encrid felt himself being pushed back, but he dropped his center of gravity and dug his heels in.
Sliiiide.
The dirt gave way beneath his feet. Maintaining his posture, Encrid pulled back his deflected sword and thrust. He targeted the opponent's opening by instinct, minimizing the trajectory of every movement. It was a response engraved into his soul through countless spars with Rem.
"Hiyah!"
With a shout, the man deflected the thrust. His weapon was a Jambiya, a dagger with a thick, curved blade. It did not chip or shatter against Aker. It was clearly a masterpiece.
Rem, Ragna, and Audin watched from the sidelines, none of them making a move.
Clang! Cl-cl-clang!
The weapons clashed repeatedly. Instead of backing away, Encrid tracked the trajectory of the dagger. The blade seemed to vanish and reappear, but each time, he predicted its path using The Eye that Sees an Inch Ahead fueled by his Will.
He couldn't launch any major techniques, but he managed to track the strikes and hold his ground. After twelve exchanges, Encrid instantly dropped his left hand to his waist and thrust.
He drew Spark and stabbed.
Faster than ever before, the blade—the literal embodiment of speed—extended toward a single point.
Then, the blade of Spark was caught in the man's bare hand.
With a sharp snap, the blade was locked in place as if wedged between boulders. Before Encrid could react, the Jambiya was resting against his throat. The man had caught Spark, slipped past Aker, and breached Encrid's guard in a single fluid motion.
"That's enough, amusing brat," the man said.
Only then did Encrid's tunnel vision shatter. The training ground, the three trees, and his companions returned to his sight. Simultaneously, a dull ache spread through his muscles. He had pushed himself to the absolute limit.
"Which order of knights do you belong to?" Encrid panted.
"A knight? I'm nothing like that." The man shrugged. His attitude was almost innocent, a stark contrast to his scar-covered body and rough beard.
"Shouldn't you introduce yourself first?" A brown-skinned man wearing a turban approached, looking around at the group. His tone was casual, as if the high-level clash had been nothing more than a minor distraction. "Allow me to introduce him. This is Lord Anu, commonly known as the King of the East."
Encrid froze.
"Surprised?" The king laughed heartily.
The Eastern Mercenary King. The greatest explorer on the continent. The master of the griffin. The man who had slain a lion with a single strike at the age of eighteen.
"Now, let's see. I hear you enjoy fighting? And that you've staked your life on killing demons? Come under my wing. I shall gift you the strength of a knight capable of slaying demons."
These were the words of a living legend. The reason Rem and the others hadn't intervened was clear: the King of the East hadn't shown a shred of bloodlust. He had simply been humoring Encrid. It was a lesson, not a slaughter.
But the weight of his offer was immense. Even Ragna, who had been lost in thought, looked up with a changed gaze.
"You're brimming with confidence," Rem said, stepping forward. Audin let out a chuckle.
Though Anu didn't call himself a knight, his prowess was undeniable. He stood tall, radiating an aura of absolute authority similar to Krang’s. Luagarne observed him closely, wondering how he planned to achieve what even Frok could not.
Under the scorching sun, the dust on the bluestone training ground swirled and settled. A brief silence followed, and before Encrid could speak—
"My Lord, you shouldn't make promises you cannot keep." The turbaned adjutant spoke up again.
Encrid's eyebrows twitched.
"Do you think I cannot do it?" the king asked sternly.
"How exactly do you plan to do it?" the adjutant countered.
"Well..."
"Just doing it 'well' doesn't solve everything."
"With hard work?"
"Still won't work."
"If we keep at it, it might just work out!" the king insisted, his eyes burning with passion. It was the kind of charisma that usually forced people to yield, but his adjutant was unmoved.
"What cannot be done, cannot be done."
"You give up too easily!"
"It's not giving up; it's about not making empty promises."
The king snorted. Watching them, Encrid caught a scent of Rem in the man. Though a different breed, he was definitely a crazy bastard.
"Since the rumors were widespread, we requested a visit, but we ended up barging in. I offer my sincere apologies. We mean no harm," the adjutant said in a thick Eastern dialect.
Encrid understood. He knew the man had been humoring his stubbornness.
"Welcome," Encrid said simply.
"Would it be alright if we stayed for a few days?" the King of the East asked.
"You look like you'd stay even if we said no," Rem chimed in.
The king laughed. "What a sharp lad!"
He clearly wasn't the type to listen to orders. Encrid didn't mind. The king was incredibly sociable, already striking up conversations with Rem, Ragna, and Audin—none of whom were easy to approach.
"Look at that build. You must be quite strong," Anu said to Audin.
"Only to a modest degree, Brother of the East," Audin replied.
"One of my brothers, a fellow named Geshtarian, is quite strong himself. I think you two would make a fine pair. All of you seem formidable. How did you all end up here?"
His tone was peculiar, treating everyone as if they were children.
"I am truly sorry for the trouble," the adjutant repeated with an embarrassed look.
Encrid fell into thought. The spar had given him something valuable. He wasn't thinking about the physical strain, but the techniques of instinctive deflection Rem had tried to teach him. No matter how much he practiced, they wouldn't be his until they were forged in real combat.
Could I use him to master them?
Judging by the king's personality, he wouldn't refuse a spar. Unlike his mentors, this man could handle anything Encrid threw at him. It was an opportunity to fight with everything he had—with the genuine intent to kill—without holding back.
"If we spar five times a day..." Encrid muttered.
The adjutant blinked. "Pardon? What was that?"
"Would ten times be possible?" Encrid asked, looking at the adjutant. "I believe you heard me."
"I did, but..." The adjutant sighed. He had always thought his king was the craziest man alive, but he had just found a kindred spirit.
And so, the King of the East’s stay was decided.
"I'll be in your care, youngsters," the king said.
"How old are you, anyway?" Rem asked.
"I'm past a hundred."
The group clicked their tongues in amazement. It was no lie. This was the man who had led mercenaries to found a kingdom in the East over fifty years ago. A monster who had lived through eras and remained brimming with vigor—Anu, the Eastern Mercenary King.