Chapter 655: How Do You Feel?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 655: How Do You Feel?
"I thought you were off to meet the elves?"
Sachsen asked. His tone was informal, a habit that surfaced whenever he was caught off guard. Even though he spoke from atop the roof, his voice carried with piercing clarity. He possessed that kind of presence—one might call it a cold flame.
It was a tone both cool and passionate, laced with a hint of a challenge. His eyes shone with intensity even as his voice remained deeply subdued.
"When I got there, I found a demon instead."
Regardless of Sachsen’s pressure, Encrid remained calm. In truth, he felt a bit bewildered himself.
"And?" Sachsen pressed.
"...I struck it down with everything I had and killed it."
Normally, Encrid wouldn't have spoken so bluntly. Now that he was capable of explaining things in detail, he no longer had to speak like those battle-crazed madmen. He had finally established a proper system of communication.
However, that was for calmer situations, not for men who were currently sharpening their momentum like whetted blades. Thus, the short, clipped sentences he used to use with Ermen slipped out of him by habit.
Then again, these weren't the kind of men to nitpick over such things.
"That’s not wrong," Ragna agreed, standing up.
Gripping his sword, Ragna took a few steps forward and drew his blade.
Shring.
The sound was chillingly clear. Ragna tossed the scabbard in his left hand aside, gripped the hilt with both hands, and spoke.
"Step aside, you dejected pup. It’s my turn."
It seemed Ragna had acquired a precious sword while Encrid was away. The blade glowed with a faint hue, a color resembling the clear sky. It was a masterpiece forged from Valerian steel, Noir wrought iron, and even Truesilver. Like his previous ink-gold sword, the thick, long blade was Ragna’s trademark.
A spark flared in the eyes of Ragna—the one hailed as a heaven-sent talent, a true genius. He had no intention of hiding his killing intent.
As Encrid stared blankly at him, Ragna spoke again.
"If you can't block this, you’ll die."
In the pursuit of the sword, one might lose a limb or two. That was how Ragna had been raised. He was deadly serious, yet the corners of his mouth twitched upward. Anticipation, joy, and excitement were swirling within him.
Encrid could read those emotions just by looking at Ragna’s expression. He was naturally quick-witted, and his recent time spent with the elves—who made a habit of suppressing their feelings—had made his senses even sharper.
"Are you going to hold back, too?" Encrid asked seriously.
Ragna answered with his sword.
It was a thrust so sudden it felt as if the blade had snapped forward without any preparatory movement.
Clang!
Encrid raised Penna vertically, catching the attack on the flat of the blade, and leaped to the side as if flying.
Boom!
With the sound of tearing air, Ragna’s follow-up strike swept through the space Encrid had occupied a millisecond before. From the initial thrust to the subsequent snap-strike, not a single attack was light. Yet, to an onlooker, Encrid seemed to evade them with casual, effortless grace.
‘Predict and react.’
If a discrepancy arose, Encrid recalculated in an instant. If that failed, he blocked with raw strength. If the attack went beyond his predictions, he countered with a blend of technique and power. There were moments that seemed forced, but in hindsight, it looked as though Ragna was being dragged along by Encrid’s intent.
‘He’s changing his tactics in real-time.’
If one could calculate every variable and maintain absolute focus in the heat of battle, such a feat was possible.
‘But does this even make sense?’
If you raise your head, you cannot see beneath your feet. What Encrid was doing now was akin to raising his head while simultaneously watching his own footsteps. He was turning blocks that should have relied on luck into something that felt inevitable. It was as if he were observing the fight from a macroscopic perspective.
Normally, it was a feat that defied logic, but since he was performing it right before their eyes, there was no room for doubt.
Rem knew the outcome even before the two began fighting in earnest. Before Encrid’s arrival, if Rem fought Ragna ten times, they drew ten times. It was impossible to determine a winner. If someone like Rem was being pushed back like this, Ragna would be no different.
The Wave-Blocking Sword was a style that defied compatibility. No matter what you threw at it, it got blocked. Ragna wouldn't be able to break through, and if he couldn't, the fight would devolve into a war of attrition.
‘Uske.’
When that moment arrived, an inexhaustible supply of Will would be waiting for that directionally challenged bastard.
When fighting Encrid, Rem felt as if he were being dragged into a swamp. Rem’s senses were sharp; he could feel the tactical weight behind Encrid's movements. Encrid imagined grabbing his opponent’s ankles and dragging them down to slowly submerge them in water. Once the water rose above their heads, the battlefield belonged to him. That was his intent.
If Rem saw it, Ragna felt it.
‘I’m going to lose.’
His genius bypassed the process to predict the outcome. If they kept fighting like this, he would eventually fall. The moment he realized he was being pushed back, Ragna changed his stance.
It was a technique he had shown Rem only a few times—the beginning of a move that was incredibly difficult to counter. It was a downward slash executed by tightening every muscle in his body and pouring in every drop of Will he possessed.
The movement was a simple downward slash of the heavy sword style, but to the one receiving it, it felt like a thunderbolt hurled by a god. It was a technique Ragna had adapted into his own style after observing Encrid’s method of unleashing his Will.
Ragna himself simply called it a "Powerful Slash."
Ragna spread his feet and raised both arms. These movements occurred in a heartbeat. His preparatory motion was incredibly short, which was why it was so difficult to block. In the heat of battle, a warrior's vision naturally narrowed. When engaging in a fight where a single strike could cost a life, even the most experienced warrior was bound to focus only on what was immediately in front of them.
Is that not why the knightly technique, Foresight, is called the eye that sees an inch ahead?
No matter how outstanding a knight’s insight was, they could not predict such a moment. Even if they did, it would be too late. If they tried to dodge, Ragna would pursue and swing. Contrary to his heavy appearance, Ragna’s feet were incredibly fast. Even compared to Rem, who had used the vast western plains as his playground, Ragna was swift.
It was a strike that could not be avoided simply by leaping backward. To counter it, Rem had previously closed the distance right before the sword swung. That halved the force of the blade, but it was a suicidal gamble in a spar. Both of them had almost died that day, and they had stopped sparring afterward, fearing one of them would surely perish.
That very strike was now falling upon Encrid. It was a moment when any observer would have thought there was absolutely no opening.
"My, my," Audin muttered.
The moment Ragna gathered his momentum to take his stance, Encrid retreated. It happened so simultaneously that it was impossible to tell who moved first.
Of course, even with that retreat, Ragna could pursue and swing. After all, it was a strike infused with the technique known as Oara’s Linking Sword. However, there would be a corresponding loss of power. Encrid had retreated just enough to create that vital distance.
‘A tactical movement.’
Reading and grasping the flow of the fight in advance. It brought to mind the style called Aker’s Spiderweb, but this was a level above. While Aker’s Spiderweb was designed to corner an opponent, what Encrid was showing now was the ability to block absolutely everything, no matter the approach.
‘Is his speed of thought different?’
No, his thoughts were partitioned. If Rem noticed it, Sachsen, Ragna, and Audin noticed it too.
Everyone’s eyes shone with realization. Ragna finally swung his sword, but Encrid swung his short sword horizontally to parry it. The two pieces of metal, infused with Will, clashed with a deafening roar.
Boom!
It felt as if the air itself was being crushed. It was like a thunderbolt striking from the heavens, only to be met by a volcanic eruption from below. A line of sky-blue and a line resembling pale moonlight met and parted.
Since clashing with full force would disadvantage both, they deflected off each other. They each took a step back, acknowledging the limits of a spar. As they retreated, Encrid and Ragna crossed paths, widening the distance between them.
With that, the fight was over. Ragna had consumed almost all of his Will. He needed time to recover, but Encrid did not.
"Shall we keep going?" Encrid asked, holding Penna upright before his face.
Ragna stared into Encrid’s blue eyes for a moment, then let his sword droop and went to stand beside Rem. The sight of Rem and Ragna standing side by side was almost comical. To anyone who knew how much their relationship had soured during Encrid’s absence, it would have been mind-boggling.
"Step forward, you two deflated brothers," Audin said, stepping out.
His eyes were burning with the same fire. Audin approached with an expression of pure joy and anticipation. Had he always been like this? Or had Encrid changed him? Whether it was the former or the latter didn't matter now.
Every one of them was burning with competitiveness. They were like madmen itching for a fight.
Golden light flowed from Audin’s body. It drifted over him like sand, trickling down to his feet before climbing back up his calves. This golden sand was the symbol of Audin’s divinity.
"This is my full power."
Audin moved. Light exploded from his clenched fist. With a whoosh, the light condensed into a single point and flew straight for Encrid’s nose. In terms of form, it was a punch thrown by twisting his waist with his left foot as the pivot, but combined with his divinity and his tempered body, it was a spear of light.
Crash!
Encrid blocked that as well. The spear of light did not end with one strike; it scattered, flying toward him like a downpour of starlight. Fists, feet, and clawing fingers targeted every part of his body. Encrid blocked again and again, his feet never stopping.
The fight looked like Audin’s one-sided offensive. One tried to close the distance; the other refused to give an inch.
When Audin finally closed the gap, Encrid let go of Penna, grabbed and twisted Audin’s arm, and slammed his knee into Audin’s jaw.
Crack!
Audin blocked it with his palm, but he couldn't stop Encrid from retreating and catching Penna out of the air. Every movement flowed seamlessly. From releasing Penna to catching it, everything was calculated. Battle inevitably involved luck, yet Encrid made every coincidence feel like an inevitability. Even when a calculation was slightly off, he acted as if the error was part of the plan.
It was a style of combat fueled by partitioned thoughts and accelerated thinking.
‘I can’t win.’
Rem once again saw the future. Audin would be the same. Even if Audin’s divinity was the sturdiest defense here, his limit was clear.
Watching from the side, Rem’s axe trembled. The voice of the sentient Descent Weapon echoed in Rem’s mind.
‘I know. But we’re not trying to kill him, so there’s no need to step in. This is... well, just playing around.’
The axe claimed it could kill everyone, but Rem had no intention of letting it. The weapon misunderstood Rem’s feelings. Wanting to win was entirely different from wanting to kill. If he unleashed the sorcery within the axe, there might be a way, but he refused. Even though Rem had lost, he didn't feel bitter. He felt thrilled. Audin seemed to feel the same.
"I lost."
Out of the three, Audin was the only one to actually voice his defeat. Sweating profusely, he asked:
"How do you feel?"
Looking at him now, Encrid had clearly pushed himself. His body was drenched in sweat, just like Ragna and Rem.
Audin’s question carried a heavy weight of meaning. In that moment, everyone recalled the Encrid they had first met—the man who had first arrived to be their squad leader.