Chapter 535: If I Think I Can, I Do
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 535: If I Think I Can, I Do
"……All forces, retreat!"
General Frok barely managed to find his voice through the crushing pressure.
Knight Jamal was dead. Could they possibly kill that monster with what remained of their forces? The reason knights were referred to as walking disasters was now vividly etched into Frok’s mind.
Inside his Heart Armor, his chest throbbed violently.
"Why? Do you want to keep going?"
Encrid spoke as he reined in the pressure he had unconsciously released in his excitement.
In front of him, Frok stood frozen, gripping his weapon. If the general lunged, Encrid would cut him down instantly. But Frok didn't look like he was going to attack. This was what his Sixth Sense and intuition—senses sharpened far beyond the ordinary five—told him.
Encrid savored the moment, feeling he had grown a bit more through his clash with Jamal. Right now, that joy was immense.
The fight with Knight Jamal had been a duel, and the outcome was clear; there was no need to slaughter these men as well. Just because a knight could kill a thousand men alone didn't mean he had to hunt down every single soldier to butcher them one by one. That wouldn't make him a knight; he would just be a blood-crazed lunatic.
"The Blood-Drinking Knight will come for you."
It was a common phrase parents used on disobedient children, similar to saying a demonic beast would bite them or a ghoul would snatch them away. Had Aker mentioned in passing that the Blood-Drinking Knight was a real person? He had heard there was once a madman who indulged in nothing but blood, slaughter, and murder.
"Giants are satisfying to cleave, humans are soft and easy, and the Frok are tough and entertaining."
Was that what the madman had said?
Encrid had no intention of becoming like that. Was a fight born of necessity, or was it blood for satisfaction? A line had to be drawn.
Leaving Frok behind—who was dripping with sweat from the sheer tension—Encrid sheathed his sword and picked up Jamal's blade as well.
He didn't even use his javelin.
He also retrieved the javelin he had set aside at the edge of the clearing before the fight began.
That wasn't bad.
His training with Aker allowed him to control his Will much more easily than before.
The fact that Plunder hadn't worked? Jamal had every right to feel aggrieved. The sheer volume of Will contained within Encrid was equal to that of Uske, a man hailed as a legend. It was a bottomless lake, a spring that never ran dry. Trying to defeat such an opponent by chipping away at them with Plunder was sheer madness.
Of course, if Jamal had known the truth about Encrid, he wouldn't have fought that way. He would have shifted his tactics, looking for a single, decisive opening to land a killing blow.
Was his opponent's defeat due to a lack of information? Out of habit, Encrid began to review the battle.
"If you become stronger and faster, shouldn't you also know how to use that power more efficiently?"
Those were the words Luagarne had told him. Rem and Ragna weren't his only sparring partners. It had happened when she suddenly poked him in the stomach, despite him possessing strength and vision far superior to hers.
Was it because Luagarne's Battle of Wits was so outstanding? Or did he let his guard down because he didn't view her as a knight?
It was neither. She simply knew how to fight. She knew how to utilize what she had. A Frok's body regenerates; therefore, she could afford to give up an arm to land a blow. She had demonstrated the Frok way of fighting—the style of sacrificing bone to take the opponent's flesh.
It wasn't a critical hit. At best, it was a mere scratch. But the fact that she had touched him at all was what mattered.
What is an efficient battle? It is thinking. It is utilizing the terrain. It is reflecting on the true nature of a fight. It is the realm of individual tactics. Encrid did not stop learning just because he had become a knight.
It was the same even now. Encrid thought his current train of thought was similar to the unit-level tactics that had just attacked him. It must have been a strategy devised by the Frok in front of him. It was a desperate move, a clear determination to give up both bone and flesh just to take a single fingernail from the opponent.
"You may leave," Encrid said to Frok, who was still watching him with intense wariness.
"……Just leave?"
"Is there a reason you must die here?"
If not, shouldn't he go?
Frok rolled his eyes suspiciously before backing away. Can I really just go? The question was written all over his face.
Encrid let him go. Killing a single Frok here wouldn't change the outcome of the battle.
If this is the board Krais set up, it's probably better to keep the smart ones alive.
There was a plan that even Krang had joined. Come to think of it, Krais—that wide-eyed bastard—was a bizarre fellow. He claimed to be anxious, yet he had even laid out plans for the aftermath. In any case, from that perspective, was it right to kill this Frok?
I don't really want to.
Encrid respected that Frok had sent all his subordinates away and remained behind alone. Judging by his reaction, he didn't seem like the type to fight to a pointless end.
So, I'll let him go.
It was half whim, half the judgment that it would help the plan Krais had drawn up. No, to be honest, it was more accurate to say he simply didn't want to kill him the moment Frok sent his men away to stand alone.
Azpen, having already lost a knight, had suffered a massive blow. Letting a single Frok go wouldn't suddenly cause them to rally an army and attack again. Waging an all-out war in this situation would only lead to meaningless sacrifices.
It was a judgment made in a brief moment, guided by intuition. Honestly, if Krais had been watching, Encrid would have had no excuse if he asked, "You're just doing whatever you feel like, aren't you?"
He had once been kicked in the ribs by Frok, but he had already forgotten about it. He held no grudge.
Gathering his gear, Encrid took a step forward. He was about to move toward the other unit members when someone moved before him.
From the shadows at the corner of the clearing, a gloomy man with reddish-brown hair walked out. To Rem, he was sly and depressing, but purely from an aesthetic standpoint, he was handsome enough to be considered a striking man.
"Is it over?" Sachsen asked.
"On my end."
"Hmm."
Normally, the next step would be to suggest checking on Rem or Ragna, but Sachsen remained silent as he shook and wiped his blood-stained dagger.
Encrid said what Sachsen wanted to hear.
"Let's go see how badly Rem or Ragna are getting beaten up."
"Let's do that."
As they walked, Encrid listened to the details of the enemies who had ambushed Sachsen.
"Moonlight Elves?"
"They specialize in fighting from hiding. The scout unit is safe."
Sure enough, as they moved forward, Finn and the scout unit approached.
"We barely survived," Finn said, her eyes flickering toward Sachsen.
The fight that man had shown was still vivid in her mind. The Moonlight Elves specialized in driving daggers into backs without a sound. Moreover, they were exceptionally agile, even for elves. When those elven swordsmen rushed them in a swarm, Sachsen had suddenly vanished.
"What the—!"
She had cried out in surprise, thinking they had to hold their ground and fight. But in an instant, three or four elves collapsed.
"Ah!"
One of the elves reacted and swung a crescent-shaped sword, but there was already nothing there. From that moment on, the man named Sachsen became a grim reaper flitting between shadows.
The dagger in his hand repeatedly slit throats, pierced lungs, split hearts, and slashed thighs. Blood splattered, but no bone fragments flew. Only blood kept spraying. His blade never got stuck in the wooden armor the elves wore; he simply slipped it into the gaps.
Of course, there remained the minor issue of his targets being agile elves who could leap into trees like mountain birds, but that was a trivial matter to him. Finn had seen Associate Knights fight and had plenty of experience, but she had never seen a fight like this.
Was it amazing? She didn't know. The enemies just kept collapsing and dying, one after another. All Finn and the scout unit could do was step back and watch.
In the middle of it, the elven commander fell backward, a dagger embedded in his forehead—no one knew when it had been thrown. Naturally, that spot became his coffin.
A grim reaper who vanished in a flash to swing his daggers, just like his silently flying blades. No matter how fearless the elven swarm was, they knew when they were beaten. Especially after losing their commander, the fight ended quickly. The elven swarm scattered and vanished.
And then, the man reappeared.
To be honest, Finn was terrified. Should she feel relieved that he was an ally? He looked like someone who could slit her throat at any moment without her ever knowing. And this dangerous man didn't offer a single word of reassurance.
"Moving out."
He had simply said that and immediately started walking.
"He's on our side, right?" one of her subordinates had whispered from behind.
Finn nodded. Only then did she realize that she and the entire scout unit had unconsciously taken several steps back. Why did she feel terror instead of relief? It was partly due to the overwhelming martial prowess Sachsen had displayed, but also because there seemed to be no emotion behind his blade.
His work showed a dry indifference—doing it simply because it was a task to be done. That was what frightened Finn.
"Uh, well."
Finn, recalling the events, struggled to find the right words. Encrid casually poked Sachsen in the ribs.
"You got blood splattered here too."
"……What is this?" Sachsen asked back, narrowing his brows.
It was a reasonable question. Encrid had just bypassed Sachsen's perception and poked his ribs, using senses that were still heated from his fight with Jamal. It was like layering white noise over a signal to mask the true message. To be precise, before poking his ribs, he had projected his intent to make it seem like he was aiming for the neck or trying to trip him.
Of course, Sachsen could have blocked it if he had really tried, but he had let it happen knowingly. It was a joke, a playful challenge between equals.
"Won't your lover back in the city hate the smell of blood on you?"
"Unlike a certain someone, I wash regularly."
"That certain someone might have a grave waiting for him in the East."
"I doubt that beastman would die so easily."
"You rate Dunchabel higher than I thought."
"Not just anyone can stubbornly survive under a barbarian, after all."
So, rating Dunchabel highly was because she survived Rem? Did that mean everyone under Rem was expected to die? Encrid had these trivial thoughts as he looked at Finn.
She was a ranger. She had practically lived in the Pen-Hanil Mountains for this battle. She was much better at pathfinding than him. But why was she just standing there?
Finn's mind was in turmoil. Seeing a man who could be a grim reaper cracking trivial jokes was jarring, and knowing that Encrid had sent him made it even more so. If they had such a powerful force, shouldn't he have been deployed elsewhere instead of protecting a simple scout unit? For instance, fighting alongside Encrid.
Just because the outcome was good didn't mean everything was fine. War accompanied sacrifice. Finn was acutely aware of this, and she had thought this time it was her turn. Was she not glad to have survived? She was, but her emotions were a complex mix of fear, joy, and relief.
That complex state of mind moved her lips.
"Why did you do that?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
"Do what?"
"This is like sending a hundred-man infantry unit to catch a single ghoul. No one summons an entire order of knights to hunt a single demonic beast."
To save their lives, others would have to fight at a disadvantage elsewhere. That was what Finn meant. She was probably right. Normally, that would be the case. Krais had also said that a battlefield without sacrifice could not exist.
Recalling those conversations, Encrid calmly revealed his true thoughts—something he hadn't even told Krais.
"Because I thought I could."
"……Pardon?"
"I thought we could win without a single one of our allies dying."
To an outsider, it sounded like nonsense. But Encrid had just slain a knight. Finn didn't know that, but she had seen the aftermath of his battle, and she had seen what Sachsen could do.
"You thought you could?" Finn asked, half-dazed.
"Yeah, I can."
It wasn't a sense of omnipotence, but confidence. It wasn't recklessness, but a calculated battle. Ever since his training with Aker, Encrid had been pushing Rem and Ragna.
"Barbarian. If you stay like that, you'll fall behind."
"Me? Fall behind who? You, Boss?"
"No. Ragna's sword has gotten heavier."
"……Shit, grab your sword and get up. That was a good provocation."
He had said that to Rem.
"Ragna, it's fine to get lost. But I don't think I'd enjoy seeing you cry after getting beaten up by Rem."
"Who says I'm getting beaten up?"
Ragna’s relaxed aura had instantly transformed into that of a finely honed blade.
Stirring up motivation was easy. Until now, Encrid only had to train, and those around him would get motivated on their own. But this time, he had set out with deliberate intent.
The reason?
"Fight more, clash more."
It was Aker's advice. By fighting him relentlessly, Encrid had gained something. This was not an arrangement prepared by Aker, but something Encrid had seized for himself.
First was how to handle his Will. It was the knack for pushing a massive boulder in the desired direction, or the trick to gathering bubbling water in both hands. It couldn't be done with raw strength alone; it required a specific "knack." Since he was likely the only one with this volume of Will, it wasn't something he could learn from anyone else. He had to delve into it himself.
And he had. He had mastered the knack of handling his Will.
Next was the experience gained from sparring with a knight. Aker had told him to fight more knights—not as a student, but as an equal.
"It is better to fight someone of equal strength once than to cut down a hundred who are weaker than you."
Encrid followed those words. He had felt it firsthand. Right up until the war with Azpen, Encrid practiced Audin's physical training and Valaf-style martial arts, trained alone with Valen-style mercenary sword techniques, sparred against Rem and Ragna, and played a game of "tag" with Sachsen that was actually about planting daggers in each other's backs.
That was where his confidence came from. That was how he calculated his allies' strength.
It seems possible.
There might be times when he had to use his allies as sacrifices, but perhaps this time, he wouldn't have to. Above all, if things went south, his companions were all exceptionally skilled at saving their own skins. Would Rem risk his life to kill an Azpen knight and die in the process? Not a chance.
Block and strike here. Because he thought he could, he would do it. If it didn't work, sacrifice could be discussed then.
"Which method are we going with?"
"The first."
That was how he had answered Krais's question. He had seen Krais mutter that he was going crazy at the mention of wanting a battlefield without sacrifice, but what could he do? In matters like this, trust couldn't be bought with words; it had to be shown through actions.
Right now, Encrid was proving his intent. It was his resolve to make this a war where no one died—an absurd, clear light that had guided him from the beginning.
However, those who followed Encrid, those who had watched him, naturally believed in him.
This was the result.