Chapter 74: Because I Trained Every Single Moment (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 74: Because I Trained Every Single Moment (3)
The second floor wasn't particularly high, but falling with the full weight of an adult man—especially one clad in heavy gear—was a gamble bordering on suicide.
Encrid rammed his head into the man’s stomach, driving him forward with a powerful tackle. He shifted his weight mid-air, fighting for balance as they plummeted. The assassin was utterly helpless, unable to react to the sudden momentum.
With a sickening thud, they slammed into the ground. Encrid landed on top, using the assassin’s body to cushion the impact.
"Cough!"
The man beneath him wheezed, coughing up a spray of blood.
Encrid pushed himself off the opponent and stood up. He took a deep breath, mentally scanning his body for damage.
No injuries.
His joints were intact, and his ligaments hadn't snapped. That was enough.
An escort’s top priority was separating the assassin from the target. Sachsen was already blocking the path to the second floor, and the Elf Company Commander would handle the rest of the minor threats.
As he checked himself over, Encrid realized there wasn't a single scratch on his back. Taking the brunt of the opponent’s blade with his body had been a calculated risk, and it had paid off.
The armor.
It was the set he had seized during the raid on the Gilpin Guild. Rem had been the one to truly recognize its worth.
"I don't think ordinary blades will bite through this. It’s rare demonic beast hide, so make good use of it. The tanning process alone costs a fortune—what kind of idiot dies without even wearing it?"
The chest containing the armor had originally been cursed, which was why the dead guild master had never used it. But for some reason, that curse didn't affect Encrid. Because of that, he had managed to take a direct hit without shedding a single drop of blood.
However, while the hide could stop a sharp edge, it couldn't absorb the kinetic force of the blow. For that, he had Audin to thank.
The Isolation Technique had forged his body into something far more resilient than a normal man's, and he had learned wrestling as a way to weaponize that physical strength. Through the skills he had mastered, Encrid had protected himself.
It was only possible because he had trained relentlessly, every single moment of every single day. Evading the blade, subduing the man—none of it was an accident. If he had wasted even a single day of training, would he have survived today?
No. He was absolutely certain of that.
"You're a madman."
Blood dripped from the assassin's mouth, soaking into his mask. Finding it suffocating, the man ripped the fabric away.
It was an unfamiliar face. Naturally—with over five thousand people stationed in the Border Guard, Encrid couldn't possibly know everyone. Still, there was a faint flicker of recognition. A nagging feeling that they might have passed each other in the halls or on the grounds.
"Cough."
The man spat out a glob of bloody phlegm that soaked into his beard. Despite his injuries, he glared at Encrid with eyes burning with murderous intent.
Shring.
Encrid drew his longsword.
The opponent responded by drawing a gladius in one hand and a shortsword in the other.
Dual wielding.
The man’s balance remained steady. Though his internal organs were clearly damaged, his gaze remained sharp and focused.
A veteran of the battlefield. Encrid’s instincts screamed the warning.
The man’s face showed his age; he was well past his thirties. Anyone who survived that long in this world was bound to have a hidden trump card.
He’ll likely use a technique sword.
Rather than standard military swordsmanship, Encrid expected an unorthodox, erratic style of attack.
"Gurgle... ptui."
Perhaps because his sinuses were filling with blood, the man snorted like a pig and spat again. He looked at Encrid and asked, "Which unit are you with?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"If you're in the standing army, that makes you my junior."
Junior?
Encrid’s expression remained neutral, but doubt flickered in his mind. He didn't let it distract him; his eyes continuously scanned the man’s posture. There were fewer openings than he expected. The man’s stance was disciplined and clean.
"I even made it to platoon leader," the man added.
Encrid believed him, though it didn't change the situation. Discharged soldiers weren't rare. Some left because they were crippled, some left as names on a casualty list, and others were kicked out for causing trouble. Then there were those who finished their mandatory service—often chosen over a prison sentence—and simply walked away.
"Are you with the Slaughterer?"
Encrid gave a slight shake of his head. He only responded to keep the man talking, hoping to spot a lapse in concentration. But the veteran remained steady, refusing to offer an opening.
He’s good, Encrid thought, subtly lowering the tip of his sword.
As the position of his blade shifted imperceptibly, the opponent adjusted his dual blades to match. Both instinct and reason told Encrid that this was a formidable foe.
"Phew, that's better. I was feeling dizzy for a second, but now I can just kill you, finish that bitch upstairs, and leave."
The man spoke as if it were as simple as picking up a copper coin from the dirt. This time, Encrid didn't bother replying.
There was no time.
The moment the words left his mouth, the assassin lunged. He was fast. The gladius and shortsword danced through the air in a blur of steel. His hands moved at different tempos, creating a confusing, overlapping rhythm.
Valen-style Duet.
It was a technique Encrid recognized, though he had never attempted it himself due to his own lack of talent. Both blades aimed for lethal vitals, supported by sophisticated footwork.
The moment Encrid saw the charge, he gripped his hilt with both hands, lowered the tip, and let the sword hang behind his left hip. He didn't panic. The Beast's Heart granted him a cold, unwavering boldness.
He couldn't predict every movement of the Valen-style Duet—it was an art he couldn't replicate. But that didn't mean he couldn't counter it.
Tap.
He stepped forward with his left foot. Regardless of the opponent’s tempo, Encrid moved to his own beat.
The two blades flew toward him, tracing circular arcs. Before they could connect, Encrid exploded into motion.
"Your physical strength is truly spectacular."
Audin had often insulted him for being dull in every other category, but he had always acknowledged Encrid's raw power. Encrid knew exactly how to shatter a technique sword using that strength and the Heavy Sword Style.
Whoosh!
The longsword sliced through the air. The Valerian steel blade cut a horizontal path through space.
Thud, squelch!
It was a horizontal slash to the midsection—a direct counter to finesse with overwhelming force.
Encrid had sparred dozens of times by now. Since he began repeating this day, his rapidly evolving skills had allowed him to glean far more from every encounter. Things he used to miss were now perceived clearly through the Beast's Heart, the Blade's Sense, and Single-Point Focus. He took what he perceived and forced his body to replicate it.
And since he had rebuilt his stubborn, uncooperative body using the Isolation Technique, dodging a dagger was now as simple as a tilt of the head.
The only difference this time was that he had swung with full intent. Pivoting on his left foot, he twisted his muscles to unleash the strike. The entire process happened in a heartbeat.
The blade cleaved through the man’s midsection, nearly cutting him in half. The assassin had tried to block and deflect with one blade to slip inside, but Encrid simply crushed the technique with sheer power.
It was a total victory of raw strength.
Encrid looked down at the man. His body was half-severed, and steaming entrails were spilling onto the floor.
"Farewell, senior."
Even with his torso nearly split, the man clung to life with tenacious grit. His eyes were filled with lingering regret. His lips trembled as he muttered something. Encrid read the movement.
"Glory to the motherland."
Was all of this an expression of loyalty? Did that loyalty lead him to become an assassin? Encrid didn't know, but it seemed like a lead worth following.
He flicked the blood off his blade and sheathed it with a soft click. Only then did the Elf Company Commander and Sachsen emerge.
"You certainly make a lot of noise when you fight," Sachsen remarked, his eyes scanning Encrid for wounds. He saw nothing but minor scratches from the window glass.
"If you're my lover, you should at least be able to do this much," the Elf Company Commander said in her usual blunt, deadpan tone.
"People will misunderstand if they hear you say that," Encrid replied, flustered. He had his priorities backward, worrying about the rumor before the danger.
"Is that so?" the Commander brushed it off indifferently. "Did you capture any alive?"
"Yes."
At Sachsen’s confirmation, Encrid nodded and headed inside.
On the first floor, the remaining attackers were already bound. Several of the caravan’s guards were missing, and a few lay dead.
The quality of the attackers...
...wasn't high. But that was strictly by Encrid’s standards. For an ordinary caravan guard, they would have been a nightmare. Above all, the man he had just killed was a veteran. He could have slaughtered a dozen clumsy mercenaries in seconds.
Where did a group like this come from? The question weighed on him.
As he entered the hall, Lady Leona, the target of his escort, had already descended. The room was a grisly scene of blood and corpses. It looked like a miniature battlefield.
More than twenty men had ambushed them. Over half had been killed or captured by the Commander and Sachsen. Three or four caravan members were retching in the corner. It was a natural reaction to the sight of scattered entrails.
Yet, Leona only frowned slightly. She appeared perfectly calm. Clicking the heels of her boots, she approached him.
"Your name?" she asked.
Encrid pointed a finger at himself. She nodded.
"I am Encrid."
"Are you alright?" she asked, gesturing toward his back.
Encrid nodded. It was thanks to the leather armor. Just as Rem had said, ordinary slashes couldn't pierce it. He had assessed his opponent’s skill level in an instant and decided he could take the hit to end the fight quickly. If he hadn't been wearing it, he would have fought differently, but at that moment, it had been the most efficient option.
"I see. I will compensate you properly later."
"It's fine. I was just doing my duty."
The woman pursed her lips for a moment before speaking again. "I'm Leona."
"Yes."
He already knew her name, but he acknowledged it nonetheless. She took a long, steadying breath and looked around the room.
"Provide compensation to the families of the deceased," she commanded.
"Yes, my lady," the nanny answered, her legs trembling. She was far more shaken than Leona. There was a trace of vomit near her mouth; she had clearly already lost her stomach. The nanny pointedly avoided looking at the floor.
Lady Leona, however, remained composed. Was she simply desensitized to violence? No. Her resolve was just on another level. Or perhaps she had known this was coming.
Encrid stepped away, leaving the others to clean up. Leona didn't speak to him further.
Moving to the side of the inn, Encrid saw the innkeeper’s devastated face. This was likely the worst night of the man's life. Encrid wanted to know who had orchestrated this.
'Glory to the motherland,' he said.
It strongly suggested there was an Azpen spy within the Border Guard.
"The one who appeared to be the ringleader escaped," Sachsen said, appearing beside him.
"Why didn't you catch him?"
"Why should I?"
I came to escort, so I will escort. That was Sachsen’s attitude—the professional detachment of a soldier. Encrid didn't blame him. Still, having Sachsen here was better than bringing Rem or the others.
"Good job."
"Two days left," Sachsen reminded him. It was a warning to stay focused. Work was work. Sachsen was right, but Encrid couldn't stop wondering about the mastermind.
Night fell, and the stench of blood hung heavy in the air. The few remaining guests checked out and fled. Just as the innkeeper looked ready to collapse, Lady Leona spoke.
"Our caravan will compensate you for all damages."
Watching her, Encrid realized she wasn't some frightened bird. She was dignified. She hadn't just been raised sheltered in a caravan; she had steel in her spine.
Encrid watched her for a moment before turning to his superior. "Are we staying up all night, Commander?"
"Do you want to?"
"No."
"We'll take shifts. Rest first."
"Yes, sir."
Encrid went up to the second floor. As he walked, he clenched and unclenched his fist.
How strong had that assassin been? He seemed to be at least on par with the 'Stabbing Freak' Encrid had encountered on the battlefield during his first repetition. Because Encrid had used the fall to his advantage, the man had been forced to fight while injured. With damaged internal organs, he likely couldn't put his full strength into his blades.
Even so, it didn't diminish the victory.
Even if he had been in perfect condition, I would have won.
Confidence—a feeling he had never truly known—bloomed in his chest. He was still moving at a turtle's pace, but his steps felt different now. He felt he had taken a step closer to his dream. It was a tiny movement, perhaps invisible to others, but the knowledge that he was moving forward filled him with satisfaction.
"Thanks to you, I survived."
One of the guards met him on the stairs. It was the woman who had been in charge of Leona’s close protection.
"If we hadn't requested an escort from the Border Guard..." Her face was pale.
"You're walking with a hole in your stomach?" Encrid asked, noting her injury.
"It was shallow. A close call. No internal damage," she replied, sensing his concern.
"That's a relief."
After an awkward silence, Encrid passed her.
"Thank you," she said again.
Encrid took the thanks lightly. It was his job, after all.
He rested for exactly half a day and woke at dawn.
"Shift change, Squad Leader."
It was the Commander’s voice, though Encrid’s eyes were already open. The Commander, Encrid, and Sachsen shared a single room. Since they used it in shifts, it wasn't an issue; they were soldiers first, and gender didn't matter on a mission.
Outside, two squads from the 2nd Company had deployed to secure the area.
"I don't care what kind of son of a bitch did this, I'll make sure we hunt them down," one of the platoon leaders barked. They had already taken the captured attackers away for interrogation.
Encrid went downstairs. Despite the cleaning, the hall still smelled of blood and iron. A single candlestick illuminated the empty room. The regular guests were long gone.
Encrid took a seat and began his combat review. To him, this was as natural as breathing. Even without the regression, it was a habit he had always kept.
As he sat there, mentally replaying the fight and performing what training he could while seated, someone came down the stairs just as the sun began to rise.
"You're up early."
It was Lady Leona.