Chapter 87 - The Law of Killing the Ones Who Must Die
"It's about reading your opponent and responding accordingly."
While taking hits from Rem.
While learning about instincts from Jaxen.
While straining his body through Audin's isolation technique.
And even while earnestly learning swordsmanship from Ragna.
Though progress was another matter entirely, his diligence remained unwavering.
"Don't you feel frustrated?"
Ragna often asked Enkrid that question.
Frustrated?
He had no reason to be.
Ragna's teachings were not just about mastering the basics but also about showing the way forward—a guidepost.
How long had he wandered, clueless and lost?
Now, with every step he took, new paths became visible, and it brought him nothing but joy.
How should one respond to a descending sword?
What should one do if the opponent is a beast?
What about an ambush from behind with a spear?
How should one extend their sword in different situations?
Once the basics are mastered, the next step is learning how to apply them.
No one can prepare for every situation. It's all about grasping the essence, the technique.
Of course, it was far from easy.
"I thought this would be over quickly," Ragna had said.
But there was no chance of that.
Enkrid knew his talent was subpar.
If his abilities had been average, would he have struggled so much?
Probably not.
Still, he bore no resentment.
Instead of wasting time complaining, he would swing his sword one more time.
"The application of swordsmanship only holds meaning when you can read your opponent's moves and respond."
Whether the opponent was a beast, a monster, or an enemy soldier, one simply had to observe their movements, discern truth from deception, and then slash or stab them with the sword.
Ragna never tired of teaching.
And though Enkrid was equally tireless, his progress was excruciatingly slow.
He knew he was slow and lacking.
He also knew he had to work several times harder than others.
Thus, he turned everything around him—every situation, every environment, and even fleeting moments—into tools for growth.
And so, Enkrid pressed on.
Digging deeper into the cave, they pressed forward.
Four wolf-like beasts leapt out.
"Growl!"
They barked like dogs and charged without giving a moment's respite.
The dynamic movement of the wolves, kicking up dirt as they dashed forward, would send shivers down anyone's spine.
Their savage eyes radiated ferocity, and their tongues hung out between jaws dripping with saliva.
Their yellow teeth glinted red in the torchlight.
'Heart of the Beast.'
This bravery, born from his training, allowed him to face down even imminent danger without flinching.
Even now, Enkrid remained calm.
In the span of a few breaths, the wolves had already closed the distance.
He combined the instinct of his swordsmanship with his innate reflexes.
His reactions, derived from his courage, were almost reflexive.
He believed even this would serve as a foundation for growth, using it as part of his training.
'There's no better practice than real combat.'
The only downside was that it always came at the risk of death.
But wasting today was unacceptable.
If he had desired a mundane life of tilling fields and praying for blessings, he would never have dared to dream.
He cherished each day, even as he risked his life to move forward.
This was the only path Enkrid had to sing his dreams.
He wasn't throwing himself into death but rather staking his life to survive.
Trusting his instincts.
Following his reflexes.
Snap!
The sound of the wolf's jaws snapping shut echoed inches away.
Enkrid dodged the beast's bite by stepping back with his left foot, then swung his elbow to bring his sword crashing down from above.
Thwack! Thud!
Instead of the blade, the flat of the sword struck the wolf's skull, sending it sprawling to the ground.
Taking a step to the left, Enkrid positioned himself so the torchlight illuminated the area.
One of the wolves lunged with its forelegs, narrowly missing his abdomen.
The force of the blow would have shredded his gambeson into tatters.
The beasts resembled monstrous predators with animalistic traits.
Two of the wolves cunningly circled around to attack his rear.
Thinking they had found an opening, they bared their knife-like teeth, sharper and denser than ordinary wolves, aiming for Enkrid's thighs.
Whoosh!
A sharp whistle filled the dimly lit cave as Enkrid spun and threw his hand forward.
A throwing dagger pierced the forehead of one of the wolves with a dull thud, its speed blindingly fast.
The other lunged simultaneously, but Enkrid avoided its teeth by pulling back his thigh and struck its head with a rising knee, combining evasion with attack.
Thud!
The wolf, though stunned, didn't retreat. Instead, it pressed its muscular forelegs toward Enkrid's foot.
Enkrid stepped back, avoiding the claws aimed at his foot, and positioned himself between the two remaining wolves.
He was surrounded.
Despite the dire situation, Enkrid's gaze wasn't fixed solely on the wolves.
Focus.
And more focus.
He no longer experienced the slowed perception of time.
Nor did the surroundings dissolve into lines and points.
However, the wolves' movements were vividly clear to his eyes.
Enkrid could predict their next actions as if they were already drawn in his mind.
With their movements visible, his response became straightforward.
No need for feints or elaborate strategies.
He let his sword hang loosely and swung it in a wide arc.
The cave was too narrow for horizontal strikes but tall enough for a vertical sweep in a semicircular motion.
The longsword, designed to crush in a single strike, did its job.
Slash! Crack!
The wolf on the receiving end of the blade was cleaved from chest to jaw, while the second one had its head shattered by the descending blow.
If his timing had been off, he would've been mauled by at least one of them.
This strike was sheer force turned into a spectacle.
"Phew."
Enkrid exhaled the breath he had been holding, calming his pounding heart.
'One.'
One wolf remained.
The lone survivor hesitated, giving Enkrid the chance to dart forward.
Curiously, he ran not straight at the wolf but to its left.
The wolf, seemingly oblivious, turned toward the same direction.
'Pivot on the left foot.'
In a state of heightened focus, guided by instinct and accumulated experience, he followed through.
Pivoting on his left foot, Enkrid thrust his sword forward.
The blade plunged into the wolf's gaping maw, piercing through its head and emerging from the back of its skull.
Squish!
The wolf's weight bore down on his arms as he withdrew the blade, letting the lifeless body drop to the ground.
He stepped on the wolf's head to free his sword, blood dripping onto the cave floor as the beast's corpse quivered in its final moments.
The last wolf's life ebbed away with a whimper.
Lowering his arms, Enkrid reflected on what he had just done.
'I can see.'
The wolf beast's movements were simple—instinctual, driven by primal urges.
This simplicity resonated with Enkrid's sixth sense, combining pinpoint focus with an innate intuition. It resulted in a series of strikes that leaned entirely on these instincts and sensations.
I can do this.
Right now, he felt he could demonstrate the adaptive swordsmanship Ragna had spoken of.
Reading the opponent's intent and movements was the key.
What remained was merely to bring down his sword, trained through countless fundamentals.
Deception followed a similar principle.
"It's something you already know. You're just in the process of formalizing it and ingraining it into your body," Ragna's words echoed in his mind.
Yes, he had done this before.
But there was a stark difference between doing something unknowingly and doing it with conscious understanding—like the difference between a housecat and a tiger.
Clenching and unclenching his fist, Enkrid revisited those words repeatedly.
Even as he held the torch and moved forward, his mind was constantly painting an image of his sword.
Mastering it in one attempt was a privilege of the gifted. For him, contemplation and repetition were the paths forward.
To Enkrid, every moment became an opportunity for training.
No more monsters or beasts appeared in his path.
Instead, he found a passage connected to the sewers at the corridor's end.
It was here that something beyond swordsmanship came into view.
Whoever did this... they're insane.
Digging such a tunnel—it was incomprehensible.
Spell traps were expensive, far from being mere cheap rodent snares.
Yet someone had set them across all six branching paths, blocking every route.
Even the wealthiest merchants in Krona wouldn't engage in such extravagance.
And with ghouls, beasts, and man-eating monstrosities stationed here, the question loomed—what were they guarding so desperately?
The answer began to surface.
"You're out of your mind."
Enkrid muttered as he reached a sewage pathway reeking of foul odors.
By the torchlight, he saw what looked like laundry strung across the space.
But it wasn't clothes.
These were body parts—human entrails, flesh, and bones, arranged in grotesque displays.
Even Enkrid, who had seen his share of horrors, felt bile rise in his throat at this abomination.
This bastard... he must die.
This wasn't just an act of madness.
It was something no knight could overlook.
Dreams didn't make someone a knight.
But neither could a knight ignore such atrocities.
Amid the carnage, there were intact human bodies, though lifeless.
One of them seemed alive, blinking and attempting to speak.
"...Krrrk..."
It couldn't form words—unsurprising since it was nothing but a head.
The sight of it blinking and moving its lips was grotesque in itself.
"...Krrrk... Krrrk..."
What was it trying to say?
Enkrid couldn't even guess.
If it were him in such a state, he'd likely beg for death.
He couldn't fathom how it was functioning, nor did he want to.
The threads piercing through the skull weren't something he wanted to understand.
Even with all he had endured, this horror was revolting.
"What the hell are you?"
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Enkrid turned toward its source—a man at the end of the passage, amidst the morbid decorations of human corpses.
It was a pale young man with long hair, draped in a dull green robe.
"This place—it's your handiwork, isn't it?" Enkrid asked.
The man seemed to ponder for a moment before speaking, his words mingling with muttered musings.
"How did you get here? Is it divine providence? A god must love me, delivering a test subject straight to my door. Let's see... You're from the standing army, aren't you? A well-trained body. Excellent. Oh, yes. Perfect."
The young man's voice was light and cheerful.
He sounded like a blacksmith admiring fine steel or a merchant celebrating a lucrative deal.
At the same time, he resembled a pure-hearted youth confessing his feelings.
The juxtaposition was unsettling.
"What should I turn you into?"
Raising his torch high, Enkrid glimpsed a shadow behind the man.
A grotesque figure stitched together from various body parts leaned against the wall, motionless with its eyes closed.
"Beautiful, isn't it? That's my masterpiece in progress. Its name is Vamillo."
Enkrid reached a conclusion.
No more words were necessary.
This lunatic...
He hurled the torch at the man.
The torch spun through the air, its fiery trail arcing toward the madman's head.
Thud.
With a simple gesture, the man deflected the torch.
He's a mage.
But that didn't change anything.
A man who deserved to die must die.
Even after seeing the torch flung away with a wave of the hand, Enkrid didn't stop.
He charged forward, lowering his body to the grimy sewer floor and propelling himself closer.
Splashing through filth, he reached the mage in a flash.
Using his momentum, he swung his sword upward in a diagonal slash, cutting through the darkness left by the extinguished torch.
***
Esther usually stayed close at night, but on days when Enkrid was in the city, she often lingered nearby.
Of course, there were days she didn't.
It's enough to stick close at night.
She didn't need to be with him all the time.
On what would've been an uneventful day in the barracks, something changed.
"Stay safe," she said, watching Enkrid leave.
But then, in a moment of carelessness, he flicked her nose with his finger.
This bastard...
"See you later."
And with that, he was gone.
Curious about what he was up to, Esther decided to follow him.
Her silent pursuit was born of simple curiosity, sparked by Enkrid's unpredictable nature.
Blending into the shadows of the alleys, the black panther moved nimbly, unseen by others.
She followed him underground, drawn by the strange magical scent emanating from his destination.
The deeper she went, the more she realized something was amiss.
If she didn't intervene, the man she had chosen might die.
That would be troublesome.
For now, she decided to observe.
When she saw Enkrid fighting ghouls, she thought to herself, Has he improved?
Though she wasn't versed in swordsmanship, she had watched him every day and could tell—He has grown.
But when he fought the wolf beast, something unusual caught her attention.
What's this?
Enkrid's movements were almost otherworldly.
Even in the heat of battle, he emerged unscathed, his armor bearing only superficial scratches.
Is the beast just incompetent?
No, that didn't seem to be the case.
And yet, Enkrid pressed on, eventually reaching the site of the grotesque carnage.
Esther wasn't shocked—she'd seen her share of insane mages before.
Still, the sight of Enkrid confronting a mage made her pause.
Should I help?
Expending even the meager power she had regained would delay her return to her true form.
For now, she chose to wait and watch as Enkrid engaged the madman.
But as the fight unfolded, she found herself captivated by him, her sharp eyes hidden in the shadows of the darkened sewers.
Enkrid, the man who never ceased to surprise her.