Chapter 751: Should I Just Cut Off His Legs?
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 751: Should I Just Cut Off His Legs?
"So, you’re saying you’ve developed five distinct sword styles, and all five are viable paths to becoming a knight?"
Rem summarized what Encrid had been explaining and demonstrating over the past few days. Hearing the summary, Encrid’s eyes widened. Surprise flickered in his gaze—an expression bordering on sheer astonishment.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Rem asked, sounding annoyed.
"You’re terrible at explaining and teaching, so how are you so good at summarizing?" Encrid asked, his eyes still wide.
By now, it was obvious he was doing it on purpose. Rem scowled.
"What do you mean 'terrible'? Maybe the problem is the listener, huh? And stop staring at me with those damn eyes, will you?"
"I’m just... genuinely surprised."
Rem, still scowling, let one corner of his mouth curl upward into a fierce smile. Without warning, he swung his axe.
The motion was so fast the draw was invisible. It was completely out of sync with his walking pace—an unpredictable, off-beat strike that utterly ignored the expected rhythm of movement.
Encrid reacted effortlessly. Before anyone realized it, he had drawn his sword and swung. It was a diagonal upward slash that perfectly intercepted the trajectory of the incoming axe.
Clang!
Though it was merely steel clashing against steel, a sudden gust of wind erupted from the point of impact.
Flutter!
Encrid’s dark green cloak billowed violently behind him. It wasn't a real fight—just a demonstration.
With the strike concluded, Rem spoke with a nonchalant expression. "So, you’re talking about something like this, right?"
Inwardly, however, Rem was shaken. He blocked that sudden strike with ease.
The man before him could no longer be considered beneath him in any capacity. Encrid had parried the axe with utter composure. Had he dodged, Rem would have accepted it as expected, but Encrid had met the axe’s power and speed perfectly despite swinging second.
To match such a strike without a pre-arranged routine was proof that Encrid was capable of far more than he let on. Of course, Rem could swing faster and harder if he chose, but the core point remained: Encrid had grown incomparably stronger.
Rem brushed aside his thoughts and snorted.
"Yes," Encrid replied simply.
In that previous move, Rem had eliminated all other possibilities, concentrating his entire being into a single action. Encrid recognized the intent behind it.
A move so fast it defies calculation.
It wasn't just that the rhythm was off; Rem had bypassed rhythm entirely. His optimization of thought occurred instinctively. It was a remarkable skill—the kind of 'talent' that felt incredibly unfair to those who had to work for it.
"Please show us the Heavy Sword Style as well, Brother," Audin chimed in.
The explanations that had stretched over the past few days were finally winding down. It had all started with the statement: "The Wave-Blocking Sword is based on the Orthodox Sword."
Luagarne had marveled at the progression countless times, her cheeks puffing up with excitement. "Show me. What’s next? So that’s how you utilized the tactical sword... I suspected as much, but seeing it is something else," she had added repeatedly.
These were sword styles suited to five distinct principles: upright, heavy, deceptive, fast, and soft. They ranged from the Wave-Blocking Sword and Orthodox Swordsmanship to the Sword of Flash and Chance.
Among these, the Heavy Sword Style had yet to be demonstrated. While he had shown the others, a heavy strike was difficult to display carelessly. He couldn't even properly simulate it within his mindscape; in that domain, only predictable moves could be manifested, and he hadn't yet fully realized the weight of this style in his mental training.
Naturally, Audin was fascinated by the method of loading massive power into a single strike. Encrid had mentioned combining Valaf-style Martial Arts with Zaun-style Heavy Swordsmanship, after all.
Pel and Ropode watched with sparkling eyes. Somehow, their traveling party had grown to nine.
"I was just about to do so," Encrid replied, looking at the monster approaching them in sheer ignorance.
It was a Cyclops, a one-eyed giant. Though empty-handed, the beast was capable of tearing iron plates apart like freshly baked bread. If such a monster appeared near a city, emergency bells would ring without end.
Perhaps they were encountering such beasts because they were nearing the Southern Demon Realm. Or perhaps it was because they had slaughtered every ghoul and minor demonic beast along the way, leaving only this apex predator behind. Or maybe it was simply a coincidence.
None of that mattered to Encrid. He had intended to hunt such a monster anyway; he was only glad it had saved him the trouble of tracking it. It was the perfect test subject.
As the Cyclops drew near, their conversation ended. Encrid stepped forward to meet the monster.
"Now, watch."
His demeanor remained perfectly calm despite the looming giant. The Cyclops’s arms were long enough to touch the ground, and its thigh muscles were as thick as a grown man’s waist. As it hunched its back, the backs of its hands dragged through the dirt.
Thud, thud, thud.
Deep furrows were carved into the dry earth by its knuckles. Even though it moved with light steps, the hardened dirt was gouged out. The sheer density and weight of its skin were terrifying to behold.
"This is going to be a good show," Luagarne said, pulling out a dried caterpillar to chew on. She plopped down on the ground to watch like a spectator at a theater.
Though Pel and Ropode had recently become knights, their hunger for improvement had only grown. To ensure they didn't miss a single detail, they spread out to the left and right of Encrid, their hands on their weapons and their focus burning with intensity.
The Cyclops approached, its gaze locked on Encrid. It didn't roar. It was a predator that preferred to rip its prey apart in silence rather than waste breath on intimidation.
Encrid strode forward. There was no hesitation, and certainly no fear. To the monster, it looked like a suicidal act—a tiny human walking into the jaws of death.
Crunch!
The Cyclops dug its feet into the ground. Its center of gravity shifted, and power surged through its waist. Instantly, the hands that had been dragging on the ground shot forward at a speed that defied human perception.
Its hands flew like twin hooks—the left targeting his waist, the right aiming for his thigh.
Clever, Encrid thought, his dilated perception taking in every detail. The fact that it didn't go for the head or neck suggested it had survived many battles. This was why long-lived demonic beasts were so dangerous; they observed and learned. It was a fact confirmed by the Imperial Knight, Valfir Balmung.
Encrid slipped past the hooks. He simply moved forward faster than the strike could close. Infusing his body with Will, he thrust himself deep into the beast’s embrace, evading the sweeping claws entirely. He was now standing right against the chest of a monster three times his size.
The Cyclops opened its maw, revealing fist-sized, crooked teeth. It intended to bite his head off.
Whoosh!
Just as the monster’s hands swept through empty air, and right before its foul, rotting breath could reach him, Encrid’s body began to spin.
Pivoting on his left foot, he coiled like a whirlwind. His cloak tightened against his back. To the Cyclops, Encrid’s head became a black blur.
Encrid took his concentration—now capable of expanding a single moment into an eternity—and condensed it into a single point.
Rotation.
Physical training had limits. To strike harder, to add more power, he had to look beyond muscle. He blended everything he had seen, practiced, and learned. The experience of creating multiple sword styles had granted him a new perspective.
All that is needed is a single strike.
Pivoting on his foot, his body twisted like a writhing dragon. He tightened and released every muscle in his body simultaneously, synchronizing the movement with a Point Explosion of Will.
Only as much as my body can handle.
With his inexhaustible supply of Will, pouring in too much would tear his own muscle fibers. He knew this limit well.
The rotation started at his toes, traveled up his calves, used his waist as an axis to multiply the force, and transferred into the sword. The blade carved straight into the monster’s torso.
It cuts so well, he noted through his partitioned thoughts.
He had worried that his imprinted weapon, Dawnforge, lacked the razor sharpness of a blade like Penna, but as he swung, it sliced through the monster like a knife through a boiled potato. The resistance was almost non-existent. Despite the Cyclops’s skin and bones being as hard as rock, Dawnforge moved more smoothly than the truesilver sword Eitri had forged.
Having delivered the rotational slash, Encrid slipped out to the side.
To the onlookers, it appeared as though the blade had erupted from within the monster the very instant its arms crossed. Along the line carved by the steel, black blood, entrails, and brain matter spilled out.
Thus died the 'Wandering Devil,' a monster that had been a nightmare for the region. It was called a devil not because it was a demon, but because of the sheer number of lives it had claimed. It had survived for so long by evading knights and moving constantly.
Encrid stepped away as the monster split vertically. A few drops of black blood splattered onto his cloak, but the dark green fabric absorbed them instantly.
It was a living cloak. And the sword was the same.
You responded to my will, didn't you? Encrid silently communed with his blade. When he cleaned it, the edge felt almost blunt to the touch, yet it responded beautifully when swung with intent. It felt like fighting alongside a perfectly synchronized friend. That was the essence of an imprinted weapon—a part of himself carved into the steel.
"Brother, did you call that 'Vortex'?" Audin asked.
Those with discerning eyes recognized the hidden brilliance of the strike. It was a blow delivered by wringing out the entire body and letting the tension explode. It was like bending a tree branch to its absolute limit and letting it snap—or rather, swinging the branch with all one's might at the exact moment it snapped.
Audin’s eyes sparkled. This technique touched the core of Valaf-style Martial Arts but took it to a far more advanced level.
"I have learned a great deal," Audin said, examining the corpse. The wound bore the clear traces of a passing vortex; the flesh hadn't just been cut, it had been shredded and torn by the sheer pressure.
He didn't just swing; he exploded his Will.
Audin wondered if he could achieve something similar with Divine Power. It was time for deep contemplation.
He wasn't alone. Ragna was reverse-engineering the 'calculation' of the move, while Rem and the others were doing the same. Their environment had changed, and with it, their mindset. They were no longer just soldiers; they were seekers of the sword.
Encrid taught them what he had learned from observing them, and even Rem had no hesitation in learning from Encrid. It was a strange, wondrous cycle of mutual growth.
"I heard it was around here," Ropode muttered as they continued their trek.
Four days after turning south, Ropode had compiled rumors regarding an ancient Demon Realm in the area—a place similar to the Gray Forest of Oara. Such anomalies were common near the Southern Demon Realm. A scholar once said that approaching the south was like passing through a hundred islands; there were roughly a hundred minor Demon Realms scattered around the main one.
"If there really are a hundred, how many do you plan to clear?" Rem asked.
Encrid replied with absolute resolve, "All of them."
It was an expression of intent, not a boast. Rem nodded. The captain has always been this kind of man.
"Over there," Sachsen said, pointing. Sinar nodded in agreement. They possessed the sharpest senses in the group.
Ahead lay a forest thick with dark brown leaves. The color was strangely ominous.
"It’s full of things that can’t be eaten," Luagarne said, puffing her cheeks.
Even from the outskirts, Encrid could see things squirming on the ground—distorted earthworms and bloated insects. The ecosystem had been ruined by demonic influence. A headwind carried the thick stench of rot toward them.
"I heard this place is infested with Parasitic Beasts. They say even those above the rank of Associate Knight can fall victim if they let their guard down..."
As if on cue, a swordsman emerged from the trees. One side of his face was covered in bulging brown veins, and his eyes were rolled back, showing only the whites.
Ropode corrected himself instantly. "Looks like someone already fell victim."
Since the figure was clearly no longer human, Rem’s hand moved without hesitation. He hurled a hand axe.
Whoosh! The axe blurred through the air, aimed straight for the swordsman’s head.
Clang!
The swordsman raised a greatsword diagonally, parrying the throw. Encrid stared intently at the figure before speaking. "Don't kill him."
"Why?" Rem asked, looking back. He was confident he could end the creature in seconds.
"I know that face," Encrid replied.
It was true. The man was Roman, an Associate Knight who should have been back in the City of Oara. Yet here he was, corrupted and mindless.
"Should I just cut off his legs, then?" Rem asked.
"No. Just subdue him."
It was a tall order. As Roman swung his greatsword, the air compressed under the force, letting out a sharp, explosive bang.