Chapter 642: Coexistence
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 642: Coexistence
How many times had he faced this bastard’s mug now?
He was on the verge of memorizing the very patterns engraved on the creature's body. Of course, he didn't actually have the luxury of such idle observation.
Unless you were a genius, you had to struggle and writhe desperately just to see what they saw. Encrid knew this truth better than anyone.
And in the "today" just before this one, despite not being a genius, he had caught a fleeting glimpse of that world.
Encrid watched as the bastard stepped out from behind Sinar’s chair—its feet, and the blades that served as its arms. As he perceived even the smallest movement without missing a single detail, his subjective perception of time began to slow.
Thought Acceleration.
The dreary air of the Labyrinth felt even heavier, and the discomfort pressed against his skin with vivid clarity. It would have been nice if he could dull some of his five senses, but then he wouldn't be able to clash with One-Killer. He needed his Sixth Sense, so he truly couldn't afford to dim his perception.
That was why he simply had to endure the pressure and discomfort. Encrid did just that. He endured it indifferently. In truth, having repeated this so many times, it was barely even a chore anymore.
Within the slowed time, an orange body approached, trailing a long line of light. It looked like a blade with legs, glowing orange as it drew near. Since the entire body of the demon One-Killer could be considered a weapon, the description was fitting.
Along with the light trailing like an afterimage, One-Killer’s body split into several forms before merging back into one as it closed the distance. The moment the orange body came fully into view, the corners of Encrid’s mouth curled upward. A wide smile spread across his face.
"A greeting."
His voice was clear, crisp enough to be called refreshing. The black-haired, blue-eyed madman moved.
Luagarne and Pel missed Encrid’s movement entirely; they didn't even have time to be surprised. Needless to say, the same went for the elf clan. Only Sinar was momentarily startled.
Encrid closed in on One-Killer and brought his sword down in a vertical strike. The blade traced a semicircle over his head. On the surface, it looked like a simple, honest attack, but...
‘It’s different.’
Sinar’s observation was correct. It wasn't "just" a sword strike.
The blade of the Truesilver sword, moving in a fluid, bending arc, seemed to diffusely reflect the light. At the same time, the blade split into dozens of paths, like a flower unfurling its petals.
It hadn't actually split. After all, he hadn't just been training his mind during all those "todays." And he certainly hadn't spent his time merely pondering to find an answer.
It had undoubtedly been a time of rigorous training. His daily struggles had pushed his skills a step forward.
It was an expanded, evolved version of the Feint Slash. He was swinging his sword while simultaneously splitting his killing intent to target multiple points. If it could shake the opponent’s composure even a little, it would be meaningful.
Against an ordinary opponent, it would have worked, but not against One-Killer.
A demon born without reason, filled only with murderous intent, makes decisions and moves with absolute decisiveness once in combat. Thus, it was not easily fooled. Despite its erratic nature, the bastard thrust its blade along the most rational trajectory.
Clang!
Encrid’s Truesilver sword struck down on the orange blade with a snapping blow. If One-Killer’s body could be considered metal, the shockwave from the collision of the two masses of iron rumbled through the ground. Dust billowed up around them.
With the two at the center, an invisible shockwave momentarily blew away the unpleasant air of the Labyrinth.
"Fun, isn't it?"
Encrid, who had struck and retreated, asked as he flicked his sword in the air. The impact from the previous blow vibrated sharply through his internal organs. He had put that much power into it. Circulating Will throughout his entire body was something he had done so many times over more than five hundred "todays" that he could probably do it in his sleep now.
Furthermore, although he hadn't consciously intended it, the strike just now was laced with secret techniques he had learned from the Heart of Monstrous Strength and Giant Cleaving. This was the result of repeating "today" over and over, which had made blending and using his techniques second nature to his body.
No wonder it looked different to Sinar.
If disrupting the enemy’s mind with blades of killing intent was a minor trick, the physical strike meant to inflict harm was a blow packed with genuine power. If one had to distinguish between the primary and secondary, the Feint Slash was secondary, while the vertical downward strike was primary. On the surface, the Feint Slash seemed to be the main focus, but the reality was the opposite.
Shaking the opponent’s composure was merely a secondary objective. It could be called an attack that blended feint and reality.
Sinar wasn't the only one surprised by that blow.
Crack, crack. Crunch.
The sound of bones grinding together echoed from One-Killer’s body as its legs shifted shape. At the same time, its arms stretched out long.
‘Well, he received my greeting well enough.’
The bastard changing his limbs meant he was getting serious.
"I’m having fun, but what about you?" Encrid asked again.
One-Killer did not answer. It was only natural, as the demon had no mouth.
"That thing has no vocal organs, nor does it have a will," Sinar said.
"I know."
He probably knew that better than Sinar did. However, even without a mouth, didn't its actions convey its intentions well enough? Just like now—the transformation of its limbs was a clear expression of its intent to fight in earnest from here on out.
Encrid took it as such. Watching the bastard transform, he shifted the direction of his toes and lowered the tip of his sword slightly. It wasn't a threat, but a signal that he would seize the upper hand in this battle of wits. One-Killer reacted to that signal instantly.
Boom!
It kicked off the ground and lunged. Even with time dilated, it arrived right in front of his nose in the blink of an eye. It was a charge propelled by legs that looked double-jointed. The bastard’s body reached Encrid’s face faster than the fountain of stone fragments kicked up by its feet could rise into the air.
With that, an orange line curved and flew inward. The grim reaper’s descending blade split into dozens of paths, targeting everything from his head to his entire body. Encrid gripped his sword with both hands and parried them one by one.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
From here on, it required Thought Partitioning—dividing his mind.
At first, he had fought by splitting his thoughts into dozens of threads, just like the bastard. He calculated while fighting and fought while calculating. As a result, a nosebleed erupted faster than his high-speed thoughts could process.
The bastard moved even more dynamically, as if knowing that Encrid was struggling desperately to break his limits. Trying to calculate everything naturally made his eyes spin. Yet, he kept going. Because he didn't know how to give up, he endured. But the outcome didn't change.
Enlightenment came after failure. Of course, it wasn't achieved in a single "today."
‘There’s no need to split it into dozens.’
It didn't happen all at once, but as the "todays" accumulated, he grew more proficient.
‘It’s enough to look at the flow in the grand scheme, and the moment in the short term.’
Even though he knew he shouldn't attach names to techniques, he had foolishly given them names like "high-speed thought" or "Thought Partitioning" again.
‘The definition isn't what’s important; the application is.’
That was the conclusion he reached.
‘The Wave-Blocking Swordsmanship is a style predicated on fighting for a long time.’
The weight had to be placed on sustainability, not explosive power. It wasn't a sword that struck down in a single breath, but one that parried and endured. He was in the middle of learning how to regulate his breathing and distribute his strength to fight for a long duration. But then, he had died because he couldn't keep up with One-Killer’s deliberately accelerated strikes.
‘I lack the eyes to see the whole picture.’
Here, he opened his eyes to seeing the flow. It was the realm of insight. Looking far and looking long. Formulating a strategy to fight continuously. At the same time, he couldn't allow even a single scratch from the bastard’s blade.
‘In the short term, look at the moment.’
If there was tactical and strategic thinking, combat thinking was also necessary. It was a way of thinking solely focused on the here and now, on parrying and enduring attacks. Here, he realized something once more.
‘Neither sustainability nor explosive power is the answer. I must not lean too heavily on either. What matters is coexistence.’
Coexistence could also be called balance. In other words, maintaining a moderate level of explosive power.
Yes, this process was incredibly difficult. Even Encrid, whose greatest strength was his inability to give up, had hesitated in the middle, wondering if this was right, for a duration long enough to take two breaths.
The training conditions for the Wave-Blocking Sword were complete. Maintain a moderate level of explosive power. It wasn't a swordsmanship style meant for honing basic skills. It was a swordsmanship style that accelerated and partitioned thoughts to utilize what one already possessed.
He had long since grasped its meaning and method of implementation, and this was the result of aligning and executing his training methods.
A meteor shower poured down. The orange blades at the ends of both arms scattered light in all directions. The scattered light raged as if to burn his optic nerves. Encrid half-closed his eyes, gripped the hilt of his Truesilver sword with both hands, and moved it.
Trying to perceive everything by expanding his five senses felt like it would burn his brain, but if he regulated it and selectively blocked only what would harm his physical body, he wouldn't have to overexert himself to that extent. The Will coursing through his entire body protected his organs and flesh while channeling power into his sword.
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang!
The orange meteors failed to achieve their purpose and were deflected into the air. Because he was utilizing his Sixth Sense, he could even afford the luxury of blinking. By doing so, Encrid reduced the fatigue and strain accumulating in his eyes.
One-Killer changed its attack pattern. It was a tactical shift following the transformation of its legs and arms. It was a movement that expanded its versatility rather than simply relying on its innate physical abilities.
The bastard began to kick off in all directions with both legs. Like a grasshopper, it leaped through the air with a pop, using the walls and ceiling as if they were the ground. It began a three-dimensional maneuver at a terrifying speed, swinging its arms.
The meteors that had once filled only his front now flew in, targeting every spot from his head, neck, arms, legs, back, to his thighs. Instead of just the front, every direction—up, down, left, and right—fell within the strike zone.
‘I can’t keep up just by moving my feet.’
He only needed to move as much as necessary, at the exact moment required. His high-speed thoughts found the answer and passed it to his combat thoughts. In truth, there wasn't even a process of passing it along. All of it occurred simultaneously.
Then, an unexpected thought drifted into a corner of his mind.
The unique pressure of the Demon Realm weighed heavily on his shoulders, and everything—the density of the air, the smell—was unpleasant.
‘Sunlight.’
As Encrid blocked and blocked again, he thought about how he wanted to see the sunlight. He wanted to feel a cool breeze, too. The Elven City smelled of grass everywhere, and the scent of flowers wafted richly through the air.
‘It’s a good place.’
Simply by imagining sunlight, wind, and something pleasant, Encrid momentarily forgot the pressure weighing him down. He could afford to do this because of his partitioned thoughts.
Will is volition—the desire to achieve something rising from deep within the heart to influence the physical body. His arms and legs moved more lightly. One part of his mind understood this, while the other part immediately executed and implemented it.
The partitioned thoughts each played their part. One-Killer’s attacks were fierce and sharp. To an onlooker, it might have seemed like Encrid was barely holding on. Thus, this was a feat of sheer artistry.
"He is doing something utterly absurd," Sinar muttered.
She was that shocked. Was she the only one?
He deflected the blades again and again. The touch of death offered by the demon One-Killer swept through empty air in vain.
Time passed.
Encrid neither forgot himself nor turned away from the present, maintaining his grasp on the "now." The Wave-Blocking Sword, the blade that blocks the waves, parried every single one of One-Killer’s attacks.
At one point, the bastard targeted Pel, but it was futile. As if he had been waiting for it, Encrid struck away the bastard’s blade-arm. Blocking didn't simply mean standing in place and holding up a sword like a shield. Attacking was also a part of defense. He had learned such basics even before becoming the Troublemaker Squad Leader. Having learned and mastered it, using it was only natural.
"Today" passed.
Clang! Clang-clang-clang-clang!
To be precise, he spent a full day parrying blades. The sword of maintenance, which coexisted between explosive power and sustainability, could not kill One-Killer, but it did not die either.
‘Ah.’
In the meantime, Encrid was intoxicated by exhilaration multiple times.
"To perfect a single swordsmanship style is akin to opening a new world."
He had heard such words once. Back then, it was just a passing remark. Because it was a story far too distant for both the speaker and the listener, Encrid. Moreover, the fellow who said those words back then was merely a swordsmanship instructor in a small city—a fellow who was, at best, a low-grade mercenary. So, the swordsmanship he spoke of probably didn't refer to anything a Knight would use.
Yet, Encrid remembered those words now, and they truly resonated with him.
It was after enduring for a full day like that. Encrid began to mix meaningless gestures into his Wave-Blocking Swordsmanship. Suddenly lifting and shaking his left foot, sticking out his tongue, or abruptly spinning in place.
Simply blocking wouldn't end the fight. This was the method he had found. The demon One-Killer was an entity devoid of reason that repeatedly engaged in rational combat calculations. Therefore, it would try to assign meaning even to meaningless actions. That, in turn, would overload its calculations.
It was a solution he already knew from having tried it several times.
‘An opening.’
Encrid swung his sword through the opening that revealed itself.
Slash!
A portion of the bastard’s forearm was torn. It wasn't a major wound. Instead, a bit of black blood splattered. At best, he had sliced off a piece of flesh the size of a pinky nail. The wound was quickly filled as orange light stretched over its forearm.
That was the beginning. To slit its throat or sever its forearm, he had to release the Wave-Blocking Sword. But then, it would be difficult to block One-Killer’s strikes.
If the Wave-Blocking Sword was a shield, he would simply expand the range of that shield slightly. He would partition his thoughts and mix in other tricks. If he had to put it into words, it was like blending the Encrid-style into the formalized technique of the Wave-Blocking Swordsmanship.
From the completion of a swordsmanship style to its application. All of that had been achieved in a single day.
"He was a genius," Pel muttered, having caught a glimpse of part of the process through his innate talent. "And not just any ordinary genius, either."
He let out another sigh of admiration. Of course, it was a misunderstanding. It was a result obtained by stacking and layering countless "todays."
As the demon’s arms were sliced away, its skin was exposed, and the areas imbued with orange light increased. The demon was dying. No, it would be more accurate to say it was being carved to pieces.
He endured for a full day. Enough time had passed that an ordinary person would have been nodding off on their feet. It became the second day. Without sleeping or resting, they continued their violent clash.
Thought Partitioning reduced the burden on his body. There was no need to whip his body beyond its limits by circulating Will alongside high-speed thoughts.
This was the result. An entity without a mouth or vocal organs naturally could not speak. Instead, beneath its sliced flesh, its severed wrists, arms, legs, and then ankles, toes, and fingers split apart, merely conceding its defeat.
It wasn't a fight won dramatically in a single stroke. Encrid knew that. However, to those watching, it wouldn't seem that way. Pel saw it as a fight he wouldn't even know how to explain if someone asked him to. Encrid had simply endured and endured, peeling away its skin layer by layer, before carving and slicing the demon to death.
That was all. One-Killer lay on the ground. Encrid had won.
"...Now, all that’s left is the Holy Matrimony," Sinar said.
"I told you, I’m not doing that," Encrid immediately replied to the elven joke, fixing his gaze on the elf.