Chapter 639: That Was Why He Had Two Swords
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 639: That Was Why He Had Two Swords
The Demon One-Killer retreated exactly two steps—neither too long nor too short. To use a metaphor, it was about the time it took to exhale half a breath.
In truth, once the clash began, there wouldn't even be time to breathe, so "half a breath" wasn't entirely accurate.
Encrid didn't try to close the gap the demon had created. He didn't bother to press the distance. Instead, he made efficient use of the time the creature had granted him.
Asking and answering questions, reinterpreting the situation through intuition, he pulled exactly what he needed for the moment from the Library of Experience. It was a process that sounded lengthy and usually required significant time, but Thought Acceleration was the tool that allowed him to do it all in an instant.
First, a question.
Do I need rest right now?
It was a question to gauge his own state—a method to reflect on himself objectively.
Resting would be better, of course.
He hadn't been able to rest properly, so he wasn't in peak condition. But that didn't mean he was at his limit.
This is good enough.
The status check was over. Next?
“Assess the situation before you engage. Don't just charge in like a madman.”
Those were Krais’s words. Encrid accepted only the parts he desired from them.
Properly check the environment before fighting.
That wasn't what Krais had originally meant, but as long as the utility remained, the interpretation didn't matter. If he could take a lesson a step further and make it useful, that was all that counted.
Never ignore environmental factors. This was something Luagarne constantly emphasized. It was a task Encrid had already completed before One-Killer even appeared.
A hard stone floor, heavy air, the unique pressure of the Demon Realm. The corpse of the monster killed earlier, black blood pooling to one side. The space is wide, devoid of other structures—a massive hall carved from stone. The only concerns are...
Sinar and her group of elves, Frok, and a single human.
He couldn't use them as projectiles, and if One-Killer targeted them, he had to keep them within his protective boundary.
Nothing is in my favor.
It was entirely disadvantageous. Perhaps that was why it was so enjoyable.
Encrid smirked without realizing it. To anyone else, he would look like a complete madman, but for Encrid, contemplating himself in this state was perfectly natural. For a man obsessed with the thrill of battle and the refinement of his skills, a challenge this steep was a gift.
“You only fight an unwinnable battle after establishing an environment where you can win.”
Those were Abnayor’s words.
Secure an advantage before the first strike.
It meant creating a favorable situation, which was nearly impossible right now. If he couldn't gain an advantage, he had to at least minimize his disadvantages.
Abnayor had once added: “Yes, and if you can’t, you must do at least that. If you can gain even the slightest edge, drag in whatever you can and fight with it.”
It was an answer born from Encrid constantly pressing him with extreme, hypothetical scenarios.
Thoughts flowed through his mind. There were bold moves and lukewarm ones. Encrid pulled what he needed from the Library of Experience.
It would be great if I could shake his composure with a provocation, but...
There was no emotional hook to exploit. The opponent seemed even more hollow than the Ferryman. Provocation would be a waste of breath.
The creature moved. Its orange-glowing body slid smoothly across the floor, shifting its footing as its blade-tipped arms hung low. To the uninitiated, it looked like a meaningless gesture, but Encrid saw the lethal purpose in the movement.
If one were to personify the freezing northern wind that existed solely to snuff out the candle of life, it would look exactly like this.
He had to observe the enemy even more deeply. He needed to define the enemy in sentences shorter and clearer than before.
He is a well-honed blade.
Why did he look that way? Because of what he possessed.
What the creature possessed was blind bloodlust. Blind—meaning bloodlust without a higher purpose. It had no goal other than to kill. An embodiment of slaughter. A self-moving tool filled with nothing but the desire to end life.
Encrid defined his opponent. By defining him, he could predict his reactions.
He will slash, stab, and kill everything in his path.
No matter who the opponent was, the demon would do exactly that. By defining the enemy, reading his intentions, and recalling relevant experiences, Encrid saw his path forward.
Thud.
Encrid did something that seemed entirely meaningless. He lifted his foot and stomped. With a heavy thud, fine cracks spiderwebbed outward from the impact point. The stone floor shattered, sending up a mist of stone dust.
“Look at me, you bastard.”
Encrid spoke as he executed a Feint Slash. He unleashed his Will, projecting a false momentum—a compressed battle spirit that even a demon was forced to acknowledge. He lowered the tip of his Truesilver sword slightly, pointing it directly at his foe.
He was demanding it with his voice, his actions, and his aura.
Look at me. Direct your bloodlust at me. Focus on me!
The demon complied. It was ensnared by his intent.
Its bloodlust sharpened like a needle, locking onto Encrid alone. It was a sensation visible only in the realm of the sixth sense, transcending the physical. It felt as though an arrow notched on a taut bowstring was aimed directly between his eyes.
The corners of Encrid’s mouth twitched upward. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated pleasure, devoid of malice, coursing through his entire body.
A favorable advantage.
Making the enemy target only him. With that alone, he could offset his disadvantages. He could fight while protecting what needed to be protected.
He was glad his intent had worked, but he was also pleased that the creature recognized him as an equal. An enemy of that caliber could not afford to ignore him. It felt as though the time and effort he had poured into his life were finally paying off.
An endless wave of ecstasy surged within him. His brain felt as though it were drowning in pure, crystalline pleasure.
Boom!
The sound erupted the moment the creature coiled its knees. It kicked off the ground and swung. Through the heavy air, the blade fell toward his head. Having sensed it, Encrid parried.
Clang!
He heard the sound even before the blades collided. As Will surged through his body, an unprecedented insight perceived the immediate future.
The sword the creature swung was on the right. Immediately after, the left sword flew in, shrinking into a single, lethal point.
Encrid rotated his left ankle outward by half a turn—a feat impossible for an ordinary human. Because his range of motion exceeded normal limits, the movement looked bizarrely distorted, yet he maintained perfect balance.
His body bent sideways, swaying as he dodged the blade. He looked like a flag fluttering in a gale.
Yet he didn't just dodge. As he evaded, he thrust his left hand forward. Spark shot out, stabbing toward the creature’s neck.
Clang!
This, too, was blocked.
Between the two, swords, bloodlust, and hostility blazed. Offense and defense traded in rapid, blurring succession.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
Blades met in midair, spitting sparks. The Truesilver sword, Spark, and One-Killer’s two orange-glowing blades met and parted like lovers full of hate. Thought Acceleration constantly stimulated Encrid’s brain.
I can’t see an opening.
The enemy’s intentions were not easily read. The creature didn't think before moving; it acted on split-second instinct. While Encrid could gain minor advantages through a battle of wits, it was difficult to land even a single scratch.
The same was true for himself. He had held out until now without sustaining a single wound.
To an outside observer, miracles were occurring between them every second. Joint movements that defied physics and thrusts delivered with raw arm strength while retreating—all of it happened in a flash.
Ah.
His opponent was not a knight, yet he fought as well as any master. How could he not be thrilled?
Clang, clang, clang.
One hundred and eighty-seven exchanges later. Though the description was long, the actual duration of the fight was brief.
Encrid made his move. One-Killer crossed his feet, executing a horizontal slash with his left sword and thrusting with his right in an off-beat rhythm. It was a familiar sequence, identical to a Valen-style Duet.
Encrid pretended to counter in the same manner, only to completely shatter the rhythm his opponent had established.
He began by pretending to block with Spark in his left hand, only to let go of the weapon entirely, forcing a delay in his opponent’s decision-making. It was a mad move. Rationality was cast aside.
Why would anyone drop their sword and try to catch a blade with their bare hands?
The demon, focused entirely on bloodlust, had consistently made strictly rational choices. Its cognitive structure was built that way. Therefore, such madness would be effective.
This was the answer produced by his accelerated thoughts. It wasn't perfectly correct, but it wasn't wrong either.
It wasn't the "correct" answer because the enemy’s thoughts hadn't actually been delayed.
Encrid grabbed the blade with his hand and held on, but with a harsh screech, his cloth gauntlet was shredded. The blade the creature thrust with full force pierced his stomach.
However, at the last second, he twisted his waist, avoiding a fatal puncture to his vitals. Then, his Truesilver sword struck past the opponent’s horizontal blade, slashing the demon’s neck.
Clang, slice, squelch!
Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
Our skills are evenly matched.
It was a level where no one could guarantee victory in a rematch. Therefore, he judged that the one who forced a decisive move would hold the upper hand.
A favorable advantage.
Once again, he had seized it. By deciding the moment to gamble, he had projected his intent first. Because their skills were matched, Encrid knew that if the creature divided its strength between both arms, it wouldn't be able to block his Truesilver sword, which carried his full power.
Even as his stomach was pierced and he severed the demon’s neck, he realized something: fighting with a sword in each hand was something one should never do against a truly powerful enemy.
Wasn't the demon before his eyes proof of that?
What if only one of his arms had been a blade instead of both?
He would have lost. Looking at it this way, his opponent was actually slightly superior.
Regardless, a win was a win, but...
“It’s not over!” Sinar shouted. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried an urgency that pierced the air.
The decapitated One-Killer pulled back his deflected sword and swung it down. Encrid leaped backward reflexively. The blade that had dug into his abdomen slipped out. Blood gushed from his stomach with a wet splurt.
It’s not a fatal wound.
He couldn't fight for long due to the bleeding, but he just had to force another decisive clash before he collapsed. He could endure by tensing his muscles to stem the flow. The technique Audin had taught him would suffice. He could still fight. He had to.
But then, an unexpected problem arose.
What is this?
Encrid felt a poison spreading from the wound. He didn't even know if it was poison, but something was spreading and consuming his entire body at an impossible speed.
Like the chill of cold water reaching your stomach on an empty glass, something coursing through his veins was killing him.
From the outside, the change was horrific. Encrid’s eyes bubbled, turning a visceral, blood-red.
“Enki!” Luagarne’s cry rang out.
He heard Pel drawing his sword and the elves rushing forward, but Encrid’s vision turned pitch black, drowning in dark water.
Why?
“Ah... Demon, you only needed to inflict a scratch,” Sinar whispered.
The Combat Review took place. His accelerated thoughts provided the answer.
One-Killer only needed to leave a scratch. It didn't matter if his own neck was severed; he wouldn't die from decapitation anyway.
Encrid realized the demon’s true ability.
Killing the opponent with a mere graze.
What seeped into his body felt like poison, but it wasn't. If it were just poison, his body wouldn't be dying so helplessly, without even a semblance of resistance.
So that’s why he had two swords.
There was no need for him to have only one. Having two simply increased the statistical probability of a single scratch.
His thoughts cut short. An excruciating pain—the kind one might feel if their skull were being crushed—swept from his head to his toes.
Darkness set in. Death had arrived. It felt like being plunged headfirst into filthy black water.
The river of death welcomed him.
Splash—
And the master of that river was there, too.
The master did not smile, yet he seemed to be smiling. At least, that was how it appeared to Encrid. The Ferryman spoke.
“Welcome, prisoner. I trust this prison will be quite enjoyable as well?”
Encrid nodded reflexively.
Right now, he couldn't see an answer. The wall blocking his path was pitch black, high, and thick. But precisely because of that, he agreed it was enjoyable. The higher the wall, the greater the ecstasy of overcoming it.
“Needless to say,” Encrid replied.
The Ferryman wasn't surprised. It was exactly what he had expected.
“Indeed. Go back and do what you always do, once more.”
A long conversation wasn't necessary. The Ferryman waved his hand—a gesture telling him to get lost.
Encrid returned to reality from the world of the violet lamp.
Today would repeat. It was time to be imprisoned once more in the jail where the demon warden awaited.
He opened his eyes at the moment the dark passage awaited the party—the time he had been resting just before facing Sinar, when he had briefly dozed off and met the Ferryman.
Looking at it now, it felt like a stage set by the Ferryman. It seemed as though he had intentionally chosen this moment as the starting point.
Whether it was intentional or not didn't matter to Encrid. If he were the kind of man to give up because the situation was bleak, he wouldn't have made it this far. He didn't care what kind of trap the Ferryman laid—especially if it was something he couldn't change.
Now was no different from usual.
“Let’s go.”
Encrid welcomed the new today with the same fire as the last.