Chapter 827: Halt, Refuse
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 827: Halt, Refuse
His body froze for a mere heartbeat. Yet, a lingering awkwardness remained. In a truly desperate battle, such an opening would have cost him his head.
As Encrid moved, his opponent—the one with snow-white skin and vertically slit pupils—opened his mouth once more.
"In place. You cannot lift. Your feet."
The words were still disjointed, but they carried a binding force.
‘Refuse.’
Encrid dismissed the command by repeating the word in his mind. His Will surged, transforming into a solid fortress wall—a barrier erected with the resolve to block absolutely anything.
Pushing off the ground, he thrust his sword forward. In that split second, his accelerated thoughts assessed the situation.
‘When the bastard in front of me speaks, a compelling force acts on my body.’
‘It's similar to Intimidation, but different.’
‘To put it simply, it's like water.’
A rolling boulder might strike a wall but cannot breach it; water, however, can seep through the cracks, soaking the ground and exerting its influence from within.
‘Is such a thing really possible with just a single word?’
But he didn't even have time to dwell on such questions. Once in battle, Encrid focused entirely on a single point, his concentration narrowing into absolute immersion.
Just before the opponent could open his mouth again, Encrid's left hand swept across his chest, bypassing Dawn in his right hand.
The Horn Trumpet Dagger, forged much thinner than before by Eitri's skilled hands, sliced through the air.
There was no sound. Or rather, the sound was simply lagging behind, for the physical blade flying faster than sound would pierce the bastard's skull first.
The sudden intruder slipped to the side. It was a fluid, natural motion, but in truth, it was an evasion so blindingly fast that an ordinary person's eyes could never have tracked it.
Thrum!
A low whistle—the delayed sound of the wind catching up—finally echoed.
The throwing knife—a weapon Sachsen utterly loathed—sliced through the air, robbing the opponent of his chance to speak.
In that brief window, Encrid closed the distance. He detonated his Will, doubling his speed with a Point Explosion. A single-point thrust lunged straight for the opponent's flank—specifically, targeting the lung.
Overcoming the swamp-like pressure weighing heavily on his shoulders, he crossed into a world devoid of sound.
It was the Domain of Silence. His ears rang, and the crushing pressure felt as though a giant were squeezing his skull with both hands.
The opponent's yellow eyes locked onto Encrid's face. He, too, had stepped into the Domain of Silence at the exact same moment. It was as if he were mocking him, showing how effortless it was.
Boom!
The sound of tearing air from his explosive leap and charge finally caught up, mingling with the whistling trail of the Horn Trumpet Dagger and the sharp crack of his swinging sword.
The strange-eyed bastard tried to catch and deflect the tip of Encrid's sword with the flat of his blade. Encrid instantly twisted his sword to parry and thrust again, but the attempt was thwarted.
The opponent's blade bent like a snake to block him once more, dispersing the force of Encrid's strike into empty air.
Clang, shreeek.
A screeching noise rose as the blades scraped past each other.
"I have not used it. Properly. It has been a long time."
His speech was still awkward. Then, the bastard's mouth opened again. This time, there was no way to stop him, for he merely uttered a single, simple word.
"Halt."
The sheer weight of that single word bound and commanded his entire body. It felt as if someone were whispering directly into his ear, telling him not to move, while invisible hands clamped tightly around his limbs.
If a god existed, it felt as though that divine being had descended for a brief moment to demand his absolute obedience.
Encrid felt the intangible pressure restricting his body's freedom. In response, he summoned his unwavering will—the same resolve that had always stood firm against every form of pressure, oppression, and coercion he had ever faced.
He did not know if a true god of fate existed, but his life had always been a battle against it—a life spent desperately clawing his way up despite his lack of talent. Everything that represented the world's principles, truth, and divine will had urged and demanded that he give up. Yet, he had survived every single one of those days, building upon them to reach where he stood today. He could withstand this as many times as it took.
"Refuse."
At his answer, the compelling force wavered and dissolved. The bastard was surprised, but instead of showing panic, he spoke again.
"Halt."
Encrid replied in the exact same way.
"Refuse."
Even if a heavenly god descended in person to test human resolve, they would have been astonished by Encrid. Therefore, no matter what power dwelt within those words, Encrid could refuse it.
His Will surged. The conviction, resolve, faith, and beliefs he had forged over a lifetime became an impenetrable shield, rejecting the magic his opponent wielded.
What is chivalry? It is a code, a morality. And if one were to choose its most powerful element:
‘Keeping the promises spoken by one's own mouth.’
Not everyone who became a knight lived by that rule, but Encrid did. Stubbornly, and sometimes foolishly. He walked his path without seeking the understanding of others. He had lived that way long before he ever became a knight.
Each time the opponent spoke, Encrid's Will was consumed in massive chunks. But it did not matter. Encrid's Will was Uske—a spring that never dried, an inexhaustible well.
"Halt."
"Refuse."
"Halt."
"Refuse."
"Halt."
"Refuse."
It resulted in a bizarre spectacle of the two bickering back and forth.
Rem, who had left his adjutant behind to search for Encrid, stumbled upon the scene and froze in sheer bewilderment. He looked at Encrid's back, then at the sudden intruder. Watching the two of them brandishing swords while wagging their tongues at each other, he couldn't help but ask:
"Uh... what exactly are you two doing?"
To an outsider, it must have looked like a complete comedy.
Despite Rem's sudden appearance, the intruder blocking Encrid's path paid him no mind. He simply asked:
"You can overcome a Word of Power?"
This time, his speech was perfectly natural. Perhaps short sentences were easier for him.
A Word of Power was the act of imbuing speech itself with force. While oppression through Will crushed an opponent through physical movement or sheer momentum, a Word of Power operated on an entirely different level. It struck the opponent's resolve through waves of energy, far transcending a simple expression of intent.
Moreover, the Word of Power he had just deployed alternated between two distinct forms.
The first was Overwriting Will. It overwrote the opponent's resolve with one's own.
The second was Overworm. It crushed and utterly overwhelmed the opponent's resolve.
That had been the intent, yet the human before him had shrugged off both. Was such a feat common? No. Even in all his long years, it was unprecedented.
"Since when were Salamanders so human-like? Though those eyes of yours certainly look like a lizard's."
Rem's powers of observation were exceptional. Assessing the intruder's eyes, posture, and demeanor, he immediately questioned his identity. Before anyone had noticed, Rem had scaled a nearby tree and was now crouching on a thick branch.
To an untrained eye, he might have seemed relaxed, but Encrid knew Rem was fully prepared to strike at any given second. Rem's feet, pressing against the thick branch, were undoubtedly primed with explosive power. Even if they weren't, Rem was a master of projectiles.
Encrid shifted his left foot, turning his back slightly toward Rem as he replied.
"No idea."
Rem furrowed his brow. Encrid's back was perfectly blocking his line of sight. This positioning was a clear statement of intent. For any possessive creature, claiming what they desire as their own is a natural instinct. Encrid was doing exactly that.
The opponent before him wielded a fascinating technique. But there was something else that stirred Encrid even more.
‘I cannot gauge his strength.’
That uncertainty made his blood boil with excitement. Yet, he wasn't merely drunk on the thrill of combat. Was this monster, a Salamander, as dangerous as a Balrog? Why had such a creature suddenly awakened?
Putting aside those secondary questions, Encrid's path was clear. He knew his duty and his place: to cut down whatever stood in his way and protect those behind him.
Behind Encrid lay the Border Guard. Within its walls lived a woman who sold marmalade, and an innkeeper who spent her hard-earned Krona to buy and collect books. The marmalade seller was soon to be married. The family of Vengeance, who had now become the security captain, also lived in that city. His unrequited love had finally borne fruit; he now smiled as he held his child and gazed at his wife. There were many others just like him.
And then, there was...
‘Vanessa's Library.’
That was the name of the public library currently under construction in the city of Lockfried.
"I've wanted to build something like this ever since I was a girl."
Hearing Vanessa say those words, Encrid had asked:
"Even if it means pouring in every last Krona you've saved?"
Vanessa was the owner of the largest inn at the crossroads—a landmark that had now become a famous staple of the Border Guard. It was Vanessa's Pumpkin Soup that had put her inn on the map.
Encrid was close with Vanessa, just as he was acquainted with Allen, the owner of the rival inn directly across from hers. In truth, he had known Vanessa even longer than he had known Allen.
She was a woman with sun-darkened skin, age spots on the backs of her hands, a stout frame, and a warm, easy smile. She was a fierce, strong mother who had raised four children entirely on her own after losing her husband in her youth. Though only one of those four was her biological child, the fact that all of them had grown up to be diligent and upright was proof enough that her resolve was no less formidable than that of any warrior wielding Will.
As the old saying went, raising a child was as difficult as clearing out an entire Colony. Though he had never raised a child himself, Encrid knew that anyone who faithfully fulfilled the role of a mother commanded absolute respect.
Vanessa was one of his oldest connections. Since his youth, Encrid had always found it easy to bond with people like her. She had once looked back on Encrid's past, before he became a knight, and said:
"Building a library won't completely empty my pockets, soldier."
The taste of her pumpkin soup, which he had eaten on his very first day in this city, remained unforgettable.
"Unless you're joining the army just to die, wipe that look off your face."
It was his first day in the city when she had told him that. Had his expression really been that grim back then? Perhaps. Those were the days when he lived a life that refused to surrender, yet held absolutely no hope. He had swung his sword until his palms split open and clenched his teeth until his gums bled, yet his swordsmanship had refused to improve. It was a time when the sheer weight of his limitations crushed his shoulders.
Still, he hadn't thought it showed on his face. Yet, Mother Vanessa had seen right through the young man who was so much younger than her. Even if he lived in a different flow of time from others by constantly repeating today, there were some things he could never forget.
‘Arriving at the Border Guard.’
He could never forget the journey from stubbornly insisting on serving in the army to eventually taking command of his mad squad.
Conviction and resolve. Faith and belief. And between those feelings, anticipation and excitement began to seep in.
The ecstasy of battle was also a part of who he was. As long as he did not lose himself to it, it was fine. Because his passion burned hotter than even the Demon of Struggle, the violent instincts of the Balrog's armor held no sway over him.
A blue light shimmered along the Blade of Dawn. The Imprinted Weapon resonated with the flow of his Will.
The opponent raised his sword as well. The long, rod-like weapon possessed a snow-white blade. He held it diagonally, waiting. It did not point straight ahead; instead, the tip of the blade aimed toward the left of Encrid's head. It was an unusual stance.
Encrid knew how to give up and take the easy way out. Even if he had never done so himself, he had seen countless others live their lives that way. Encrid knew how to retreat. He possessed a mind sharp enough to calculate profit and loss without even having to think.
Yet, he did not retreat. His heart was filled with a fierce boldness that others might well call reckless bravado. And so, even now, facing an opponent whose strength he could not measure, Encrid smiled as he always did.
With that smile, he lunged forward. Like a tidal wave that would not halt even if the heavens split in two, like a relentless storm that raged without end, he struck.