Chapter 627: The Gap in Skill
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 627: The Gap in Skill
By its very nature, a whip is faster than a sword. It is a weapon that harnesses immense centrifugal force through the simple snap of a wrist.
When a whip is swung correctly and reaches its terminal velocity, it doesn't just whistle—it tears the air apart. That fundamental truth didn't change just because the whip had grown to a monstrous size.
Boom! Crash!
The sound was like thunder striking right beside them.
Luagarne knew how to swing a whip to produce a similar effect, but her efforts had only ever resulted in mere snaps and cracks. This was something else entirely.
A monster.
That was Pel’s assessment. Luagarne, meanwhile, concluded that if one took a direct hit from that steel whip, not even Heart Armor could withstand the impact.
While the two of them were busy perceiving, analyzing, and overthinking, Encrid tracked the whip’s trajectory with accelerated thoughts. If he didn't watch, he would be struck; if he didn't predict, he would be forced to sacrifice a limb.
It’s fast.
There was a time when Rem’s arm had seemed to bend like a whip, and Encrid had once felt his own axe move like a flash of light, but this was worse.
The giant smiled, pulling and lashing the whip with practiced, lethal skill.
Crash! Boom! Rip! Roar!
Four more deafening roars echoed through the clearing.
If there had been anything in the whip's path capable of taking a hit, it would have been shattered to atoms. A human body would have been effortlessly torn into chunks and scattered to the winds.
"Get into the forest!" Luagarne shouted, urging him to use the environment. As she screamed, she felt a warm trickle of blood from her ears.
My eardrums... they've ruptured.
Pel was in the same state. Their eardrums simply couldn't withstand the sheer sonic pressure of the whip. The two of them widened the distance even further. This was a monster that wouldn't permit anyone to draw near.
Encrid, however, did not budge while the whip roared four more times. After dodging the initial strike, he simply stood his ground, gripping his sword. His eardrums remained intact. Sachsen had once taught him that dulling one's senses was merely a matter of technique, so he had trained for it specifically.
Through repeated practice, he had learned how to protect his body with Will, which had naturally evolved into the knightly skill, Endure. A knight uses skills to withstand the impossible. He had shielded his inner ears in that exact manner. Meanwhile, Encrid organized his thoughts.
The opponent has the advantage in distance.
They were currently at the perfect range for a whip user.
If I try to close the distance, the whip will fly at me.
What if he feigned an advance to trick the giant?
Bad idea.
His intuition screamed at him. Encrid could find no opening using any conventional method. This was an opponent he couldn't suppress through a Battle of Wits. That whip was a weapon of perfect offense and defense; its attack was its defense. In terms of raw speed, the whip could strike twice in the time it took to swing a sword once.
What if he sacrificed an arm to grab it?
Could he win while mutilated?
No matter how great a knight he was, losing an arm would throw off his balance. Since it would take time to adapt, he would have to fight with a broken center of gravity in the meantime.
Encrid instinctively drew a long, thin breath, steadying his soul.
Since I can't see it with my mind...
Then he would have to carve a path with his body.
Interestingly, during his training with Sachsen before his departure, they had shared a conversation:
"What if there isn't even time to think about a Battle of Wits?"
Sachsen’s answer came back to him now.
"You feel with your body and react. You can do it, if you sharpen the blade of your senses."
It meant fighting by grasping the world through intuition and a sixth sense, rather than processing it through logic and reason. His words shared common ground with Rem’s teachings. Judging by his behavior, Sachsen’s intention had been to aid Encrid’s training, though he had stubbornly refused to admit he was supporting Rem’s methods.
Thus, he had only taught Encrid in secret, under the cover of night.
When Rem eventually noticed and started running his mouth, the two of them had ended up in yet another duel.
Coincidentally, this was the very thing Encrid wanted to teach Pel.
If you try to process a Battle of Wits with your head, you'll find no answer. You must react with your body so your opponent cannot predict you.
Exhaling slowly, he held the breath he had just drawn. Encrid stopped chasing the whip with his eyes. Instead, he perceived it through pure instinct.
Even here, Encrid felt he was lucky. Thanks to Luagarne, he had plenty of experience dealing with whips.
A whip moves at high speeds, delivering strikes through wrist snaps and centrifugal force. Because of that, it was bound to follow a certain rhythm and flow.
The giant silently swung his steel whip. The monstrous strength originating from his massive forearms transferred into the weapon, followed by a roaring whoosh!
The weapon, forged of twisted steel, tore the air asunder, sweeping in a diagonal arc aimed at Encrid’s torso. It was a strike that should have been impossible to dodge.
Clang!
Indeed. Since dodging was not an option, he thrust his sword forward to meet the whip. While he couldn't block it perfectly, he could hold out for a few strikes. He was parrying by relying on his intuition to grasp the falling trajectory.
Clang! Clang! Boom!
Encrid blocked three more times. His palms tingled with a dull, throbbing ache. Fortunately, his truesilver sword was sturdy enough to withstand the steel.
"How long do you think you can keep blocking?" the giant bellowed.
Following that booming voice, Encrid’s eyes half-opened. The whip flew in once more—the moment the roaring grim reaper descended. Encrid leaped toward a place no one would have expected.
He lunged forward. It looked like a suicide dive. After all, even a mere graze would tear his flesh, and whether it was iron armor reinforced with Endure or anything else, it would surely be shattered.
The giant sensed victory. But his intuition betrayed him immediately.
The whip passed inches over Encrid’s head.
Was it luck? the giant wondered.
Encrid slipped past the whip’s reach. He was now within sword range, and he immediately swung his blade. The giant blocked the strike with the iron gauntlet on his left wrist.
Clink.
Sparks flew as the truesilver sword left a deep gouge in the gauntlet. A fragment of iron sheared off and bounced away.
I blocked it.
From the giant’s perspective, a strike that relied on luck had simply missed its mark.
Since the giant’s body was twice the size of an ordinary man, his stride was extraordinary. Utilizing that reach, he stepped back to reset the distance, spun the whip in the air, and brought it down again without giving Encrid a moment to breathe.
Do you think luck will favor you twice?
If Encrid kept blocking, his blade would eventually break. Then, the giant would crush his limbs one by one.
I’ll break him piece by piece until he pisses himself.
Such were the giant’s thoughts.
But Encrid slipped inside the giant’s guard once more. He lowered his posture completely, ducking beneath the whip’s strike zone.
Boom!
The wind generated by the whip lashed at his hair. It was a gale strong enough to scalp a man. As his hair was blown back, Encrid’s forehead and eyes were fully revealed.
Beneath his clear brow, the giant saw two eyes glowing with a brilliant blue light.
It’s not luck.
Of course it wasn't. Encrid had read the rhythm of the whip. There was a pure gap in skill between the two—a gap so wide that, if not for the unique nature of the whip, they wouldn't even be standing on the same level.
"This is nothing like a horse!" the giant bellowed.
People said horses were twice the size of humans, but up close, this giant was overwhelmingly massive.
Encrid swung his sword, aiming for the neck just as he had before. The light, swift blade thrust toward the throat like a swallow.
The giant tried to block again with his left gauntlet, but Encrid’s sword curved mid-air, slashing the upper part of the giant’s right arm instead.
Slash.
It was the sound of flesh being parted. Compared to the roar of the whip, it was barely louder than a lover’s whisper.
But volume did not dictate power. For an ordinary person, a sharp blade was enough to cut; for a giant, a slash imbued with Will was more than enough.
The giant’s thick skin was sliced open, and blood spurted out. A major vessel had been severed.
No—Encrid had cut it precisely. He had intentionally targeted the tendons and blood vessels.
"The more intimately you know the human body, the easier it becomes to dismantle an opponent."
Such was Audin’s teaching. Encrid had practiced and mastered that lesson countless times. Experience, realization, and the wisdom derived from a listening attitude—all of it converged in this very moment.
His blue eyes saw the future, and his senses, having decoded the rhythm of the whip, deciphered the weapon’s trajectory.
"You’re no ordinary knight," the giant spoke, his expression turning gloomy. No one in the world enjoyed the prospect of dying.
The giant, Hatun, was no exception. From what he had heard, Encrid was a bastard who had become a knight by sheer luck and was only difficult to deal with because of the people around him. Hatun had been waiting for the boy to be alone.
Previously, whenever they sent assassins to the Border Guard, they would all drop dead and contact would be lost. But upon hearing that the target had ventured out alone, Hatun had made his move.
"You’re beyond a Combat Apostle," the giant continued.
In the brief span of those words, Encrid slashed the back of the giant’s knee and severed his wrist. Blood gushed from the half-severed, dangling hand. It was impossible to swing a whip with a wrist in that condition.
The Demon Realm Holy Land Cult had Combat Apostles skilled in battle, but Hatun saw his opponent as something far beyond them.
"An Evil Spirit Apostle should have stepped up," Hatun muttered.
Was he trying to relay information to someone? Since nothing could be gleaned from it now, Encrid ignored him.
"I don't know the location of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult, so returning you to sender is out of the question."
With those words, Encrid kicked the thigh of the giant, leaped upward, and swung his sword. The truesilver blade drew a half-circle, slicing through Hatun’s Adam's apple.
Thud.
The giant was a step too late in blocking his throat; the blade had already passed through. Clutching the wound on his neck with his remaining hand, the giant asked, "How... did you dodge the whip?"
He certainly had a lot of questions. It was understandable—when death approached, didn't one naturally become curious?
His eyes were filled with lingering regret.
"The rhythm is simple."
"...Crazy bastard."
The rhythm is simple? You crazy son of a bitch, do you think knowing it means you can just dodge it?
This opponent was no different from the paladins who had joined the Gray Divine Army in the past. It was just that this time, putting Will aside, the gap in trained skill and experience was much larger.
Encrid stepped behind the giant’s massive frame. The corpse collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud. Dust billowed with a loud crash, and the blood pouring from the giant threatened to form a lake.
Encrid stepped back to avoid the pooling crimson.
"It seems the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult sent an assassin."
The first thing he said after the life-and-death struggle was to call him a mere assassin.
"I doubt that giant came here to make friends," Pel replied.
Encrid was Encrid. Even after killing the giant, he simply kept walking.
"Let's go."
"Won't they attack again?" Pel worried. This was a serious escalation.
"No matter how powerful the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult is, they cannot send assassins of this caliber in droves," Luagarne said, looking at Hatun’s corpse. She spoke while carefully examining the whip he had used.
She was right. Even if the Cult influenced the entire continent—and possessed the greatest military power in the world—they couldn't afford to throw away such high-level assets.
Due to Hatun’s failure, the parish on the central continent was already on the verge of immediate withdrawal.
* * *
To think Hatun failed.
The Archbishop lamented upon hearing the news. A sigh escaped him at the thought of the bastard blocking his path—especially one whose mental state was so thoroughly unhinged that he called himself a madman.
That is why he cannot be left alive.
Through Hatun’s death, he could gauge the boy’s skill. If they tracked his movements once more...
It’s rare for him to be without his order.
They would have to target him while he was away from his knights.
"Gather all the remaining forces in the parish. I will go as well," the Archbishop, who was also the First Apostle, declared. He believed there was one more opportunity.
If he went out, he must return.
Even if they didn't know his exact destination, the bastard would eventually return to the Border Guard. They only needed to guard the path. It was sound logic.
However, there was one thing the First Apostle missed: he assumed Hatun had died after a close, hard-fought battle. After all, no matter how much information one gathered, it was impossible to know everything.
In truth, another cultist who had watched the fight from afar had heard Hatun’s words, but to his untrained eyes, it had initially seemed like Hatun was pushing Encrid back. It was a misunderstanding born of a terrible eye for combat.
This was a tragedy caused by a shortage of available personnel—a consequence of so many talents dying in their attempts to capture Encrid.
* * *
Whether he was being targeted from afar or not, Encrid kept walking.
From the fourth day, he spent time with Luagarne, teaching her while reflecting on his own skills. They continued until they crossed a river. There was a noble’s territory he knew along the way, but he did not stop.
It wasn't that he particularly cared about the Ferryman’s dream, but since it had shown him Sinar...
It doesn't seem like she's having a good time.
If what the Ferryman had shown him was the truth, that is.
Following the path Esther had planted in his mind, he crossed the southern river, moved eastward, and climbed several mountains. Even after the giant Hatun, they encountered monsters and ran into bandits a few times, but there was no need for Encrid to step forward.
"You're committing banditry? Are you out of your minds?"
Pel stepped up, and Luagarne stepped in to resolve it. That was how they arrived at their destination: the place Esther had called the Ghost Forest.
Seeing the green mist hanging before the trees, it truly felt as if ghosts might emerge at any moment. Since the forest was connected to the base of a deserted mountain path, there were no signs of human passage.
Encrid had just split the skull of a boar-type demonic beast. Just as he took two steps toward the forest, his thoughts accelerated.
Sounds, smells, even the subtle air brushing against his skin—everything entered the domain of his Sensory Technique. Encrid saw the incoming projectile.
With a sharp whoosh, an arrow tore through the air and flew straight for him.