Chapter 687: Swordsmanship of Calculation
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 687: Swordsmanship of Calculation
Night falls quickly in the mountains. The lingering twilight vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a canopy of moon and stars as night descended over the peaks.
Though the group wasn't sprinting at full tilt, they maintained a remarkably brisk pace. Whenever they hit flat terrain, their speed doubled; as they accelerated, the celestial lights overhead seemed to stretch into long, shimmering streaks.
Squeeeal!
A boar demonic beast they passed along the way startled at their presence and tried to give chase, only to quickly abandon the pursuit. Had the beast been even a fraction more persistent, it would have earned the grim privilege of seeing its own entrails spilled across the dirt. It was a lucky creature.
Grida placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, then let it go. In that brief moment, she had decided that killing the beast and spilling its blood would only draw more pests to their location.
Running on flat ground was practically a rest period. True to his word, Magrun led the group along a rugged, unconventional path. The ground was littered with jagged rocks and tree roots that acted like natural traps, cluttering their way. Such obstacles might have tripped up ordinary travelers, but this group consisted entirely of knights. None were hindered by such minor inconveniences.
As for Anne, the only one among them incapable of maintaining this speed, she had swallowed two small pills and was now fast asleep on Ragna’s back, dead to the world. There was no need to worry about her.
Whoosh! Slash! Crack!
Running at the vanguard, Magrun swung his sword to clear away obstructing branches. The severed limbs fell away behind them. While dodging roots and carefully choosing their footing, a waist-high boulder blocked their path, but they all vaulted over it without losing momentum. They scaled steep slopes that would make any onlooker sigh in despair without a moment’s hesitation.
Encrid lost himself in thought as he ran. Splitting his focus had become second nature; navigating the treacherous terrain required little conscious effort. His eyes, fully adjusted to the dark, mapped the terrain using only moonlight and starlight. Since they weren't sprinting at full capacity, adjusting his footing mid-stride to avoid tripping was simple.
Thus, this steady run provided the perfect opportunity to leisurely ponder his swordsmanship. At least, that was how Encrid saw it.
'Like reflexively reaching out when an object flies toward you, or like a street vendor rhythmically turning skewers over a brazier.'
If he could channel his Will in such a natural manner, even a reactive strike against a sudden ambush would carry immense power. He had realized this truth before, but without repeatedly putting it into practice, his body would never truly adapt.
Encrid knew himself well. He knew that simply conceiving an idea and dwelling on it wouldn't make it second nature; he had to repeat it over and over again. In that sense, he actually welcomed the prospect of an ambush.
In the midst of his contemplation, his sixth sense tingled.
'Something is coming.'
The moment he registered the threat, Ragna, who was running with Anne on his back, pulled his leading foot to the side and pivoted.
Thud! The ground beneath Ragna’s foot caved in, leaving a deep crater. Even with such a sudden burst of force, his boots held firm. They were incredibly sturdy, reinforced with steel plates on the soles and crafted from troll hide.
In Encrid’s eyes, the sight of those custom-made boots—specially ordered by Krais—sending dirt spraying into the air unfolded in slow motion. And through that spray of debris, a long, dark shadow lunged forward.
"Ambush!"
Ragna’s evasion came first, followed by Grida’s shout. But even as Grida cried out, Encrid, who had been tailing Ragna closely, drew Penna and swung it in a single, fluid motion.
Slash!
The exquisite elven sword, boasting unparalleled sharpness, sliced diagonally through the lunging shadow.
'An arm.'
Encrid identified the target even as he cut through it. His dark-adapted eyes caught the details under the moonlight: a forearm covered in black scales. There was also information gleaned from the sensation transmitted to his hand.
'It’s hard.'
Had he been using an ordinary sword instead of Penna, he still would have cut it, but it wouldn't have been this effortless. A hard forearm densely packed with black scales—this was the data gathered through sight and touch.
Though its arm had been severed, the creature didn't scream. Instead, black blood sprayed into the air, deliberately aimed at Encrid’s face. The creature was shaking the stump of its severed arm to fling the blood like a weapon.
His accelerated thoughts instantly deduced the opponent’s intent.
'Using a severed limb as a form of attack.'
This was not a tactic an ordinary monster would employ. Instinctively, any normal beast would have recoiled in pain upon losing a limb.
"Black!"
Grida shouted again, but Encrid had already dodged the spraying blood and shifted his weight. While Ragna had dodged to the right, Encrid moved to the left. Springing off the ground using the Frog Step he had learned from Luagarne, Encrid swung Penna horizontally.
'An attack flashes in an instant.'
Naturally, his Will infused every movement. There was no wasted motion; it looked as seamless as a choreographed routine. A flash resembling moonlight tore through the air with a sharp crack, drawing a line that severed everything in its path—the darkness of the night, and even the Scaler hiding behind that black veil.
Splurt!
Cut nearly in half, the monster collapsed sideways, spilling black blood and entrails onto the ground. Encrid paused in his follow-through, and the rest of the group halted their steps as well.
"Look at these bastards," Grida muttered, staring ahead.
There was no scent, and their presence was barely detectable. Yet, slit-pupiled, beast-like eyes revealed their existence in the dark. Dozens of pairs of black eyes—eyes with a bizarre light glowing only along the vertical slits of their pupils—floated in the darkness.
Hiss-s-s-s.
From amidst the dense underbrush and beneath thick tree roots, their cries echoed. It was another attack by a pack of Scalers. Encrid assessed the path they had traveled and the state of the pack blocking their way, taking in the situation.
'A pack of Scalers, devoid of magic or sorcery.'
And their numbers were fewer than before.
"Watch out for the ones with black scales. Some of them wield special abilities," Grida warned.
Perhaps it was their equivalent of magic. Just as Grida said, there were monsters among them with unique capabilities. The one he had just slain...
'Its body was somewhat harder.'
Was that all? It didn't seem likely.
'Did they scramble these monsters in a hurry because we veered off their predicted path? Then how did they know our location? Simple. They observed us. But how did they observe us? How do you track enemy movements on a battlefield? By sending scouts. Wouldn't the enemy do the same? If they sent scouts out in the open, they would be easily spotted. So, are they using an undetectable, unpredictable method?'
Several clues aligned, pointing toward an answer. It was a process of his mind reflexively grasping cause and effect, analyzing the situation, and drawing a conclusion.
'The bat demonic beast from the first day. Bats track movement through sound. If they only needed to observe, they could utilize that. And if there were sharp-eyed scouts familiar with this terrain, they could easily track us just by watching trees sway and snap in the distance. Come to think of it, even if they failed to predict our route, intercepting us in real-time wouldn't be difficult. And that must be why they sent the Scalers to this exact spot.'
'Their goal is to delay us.'
Case in point: they weren't solely targeting Anne this time, though the malice directed at her was still palpable. They were desperate just to block the path ahead. Therefore, getting bogged down here was not a good strategic move. At least, not from a tactical standpoint.
"Go on ahead."
That was his decision. At Encrid’s words, Grida asked, "What about you?"
"I'll catch up. Leave a trail."
Asking if he would be fine alone was a pointless luxury. Even if there were unique variants with black scales among the enemy...
'It’s safe to say we have a unique variant of a knight on our side as well.'
Grida thought to herself and nodded to Magrun. Magrun took the lead, and Ragna departed without so much as a backward glance. Ragna’s attitude was clear: he saw no reason to worry, nor any need to hesitate.
Would the Scaler pack split up? They did not. When Encrid stopped, they held their ground as well. Had they anticipated this split? He couldn't be sure. It was difficult to deduce the identity of the enemy lurking behind the veil; there was simply too little information.
So, he would simply do what needed to be done. Encrid spoke to the creatures blocking his path, a faint trace of amusement in his voice.
"Come play with me."
Had his opponents been a race capable of understanding speech, they would have felt a chill run down their spines. Perhaps the monsters felt something similar anyway, though there was no way to know.
Shring, shring!
He sheathed Penna and drew Samcheol. The blade of Truesilver and the blade of Ink Gold whined, vying to go first.
"Easy now."
As Encrid placated the two blades, the monsters, sensing a momentary opening, closed the distance and lunged from his left and right. Encrid swung his swords at the two in turn. To his right, he swept Truesilver toward the sky; to his left, he brought Ink Gold down in a heavy, crushing slash.
Whoosh.
Along trajectories that looked almost like wings unfolding, the two Scalers were split vertically, spraying blood. The moonlight filtering through the spray of black blood illuminated the gentle curve of a smile on Encrid’s lips.
"Let's keep going."
He felt as if he were on the verge of grasping something, which only made him more eager. As Encrid spoke and raised his sword tips above his head, two of the black-scaled Scalers reached their hands out toward him.
They possessed telekinetic powers. At their gesture, Encrid felt invisible cords wrapping tightly around his body.
'Are they stronger than the Manticore? Or about the same?'
It was just about that level. It was useless. The disparity in strength was so stark that he could simply ignore it and leap forward.
Rip.
Though no such sound actually echoed, Encrid tore through the telekinetic net with his bare body and leaped. He didn't even charge toward the ones wielding the telekinesis. He simply went about calmly slashing, thrusting, and carving through the nearby monsters, one strike at a time.
Stepping forward with his left foot, he executed a Heavy Sword Style downward slash, then took a large stride forward with his right foot to deliver a thrust.
Thud, stab!
Sensing three distinct lines of killing intent from behind, he shifted his stance and swung his swords backward. With three swift strokes, the wooden spears held by the Scalers were shattered and sliced to pieces.
At times, his movements were too fast for the eye to follow; at others, he blocked so slowly that he seemed almost stationary. It was because he moved only as much as necessary, precisely when necessary.
'Defense like a wave, attack like a flash of light.'
But did defense and offense really need to be separated? Was there any reason not to view them as one? At the level of a High Knight, one did not compartmentalize swordsmanship; they wielded it naturally. So, he would do just that.
The action followed the thought instantly. In front of him was a creature trying to bind his sword with telekinesis, while from the side, another lunged with a long wooden spear. The tip of the wooden spear was blackened, likely coated in poison.
It was a natural association.
'It’s not about technique and training.'
Encrid redefined a concept he had once pondered. He revised his previous classification of sure-kill, maintenance, and all-rounder, which he had categorized under technique and training.
'It is sensation and calculation. Not technique and training.'
That was the correct way to view it. Furthermore, even if one leaned heavily toward one side, they would naturally be forced to acquire the other. If Pel were entirely incapable of calculation, he would easily fall to Ropode. Conversely, if Ropode’s sensation fell significantly short of Pel’s, any calculation would be meaningless, and the battle would be decided in a single blow.
As he continued to ponder, his two styles of swordsmanship ceased to function separately, blending naturally into a single, cohesive flow. By repeatedly applying what he had newly learned, his subsequent attempts surpassed his first, growing exponentially better with each execution.
'What I am doing now is calculation.'
In a fraction of a second, he weighed the possibilities, assessed the probabilities, and unleashed his blade. The entire process was as natural as breathing.
'I was being arrogant.'
He had believed that the level of a High Knight was simply wielding Will naturally, but...
'It may look that way on the surface, but if you delve deeper, it is a continuous cycle.'
You wield Will naturally, learn swordsmanship again, and then naturally integrate that into your body. It was a constant repetition. Even now, he could see his own shortcomings.
'The swordsmanship of calculation.'
He could perform this style now, but what about the swordsmanship of instinct? The Order of Madness had told Encrid to hide his specialty, but instead, Encrid chose to acquire an entirely new one.
To an outside observer, it was an act that could easily be deemed madness. Even Rem would have thought so. Yet, even as he swung his swords amidst these deep thoughts, there was no issue.
A knight is a disaster, slaying a thousand alone. Against these monsters, Encrid embodied a portion of that continental adage. Needless to say, he emerged from the fray without a single scratch.
He didn't even pause to look back at his handiwork. The moment he judged the cleanup complete mid-slash, he immediately set off in the direction the others had gone. That was the sole achievement of the monsters that died here: buying a brief moment of time, and serving as live practice for Encrid.