Encrid gripped Silver tighter.
At the same time, he thought.
The charging horseman, the flying spearhead.
The Heart of the Beast gave him courage, and Focus Point made it seem as if his opponent's movements were cut off.
His heightened senses naturally calculated the moment the spearhead would reach him.
And he cut.
Still, something was ticking at his mind.
'Not enough.'
Something was lacking.
He quickly reviewed the moment, and soon realized what needed fixing.
What if he had stepped forward a bit more earlier? If he had just taken half a step forward, the force would have transferred more easily.
The difference in stride would have affected the power transfer.
Encrid swung the sword, adjusted his grip, and moved as he thought.
He widened his stance. Corrected his posture. Then swung the sword toward empty air.
Whoosh.
There was no need to swing quickly. He just needed to feel the force transferring at a proper speed.
The blade sliced through the air. It stopped precisely at the intended point.
Conclusion: This was correct. The difference in stride made the power transfer easier. Encrid understood it in his mind and engraved it into his body.
"Aren't they coming?"
He raised his head.
Thousands of people had gathered. The army stood watching.
Of course, Encrid wasn't watching the army, but merely raised his head wondering if his next opponent was coming.
Why aren't they coming?
He simply watched in curiosity.
It was the first battle, the first duel.
The ones lined up at the back couldn't see well, but those at the front could see everything.
Naturally, the enemy troops on the opposite side saw it too.
It was normal for their feet to be frozen in place.
* * *
'A single strike?'
Zalvan's brow furrowed. He had two adjutants. The one who just went out was less skilled, but still talented enough to hold his own against a Knight's Squire.
"Did he let his guard down? Fool."
One of the other adjutants muttered, stepping forward.
"Wait."
Zalvan raised his hand. The adjutant halted, reins in hand.
Zalvan judged that the opponent's skill was not ordinary.
But it was also true that his adjutant had been careless. He wasn't someone who would go down in a single strike. After a brief moment of thought, Zalvan made a decision.
"I'll go. Vinu, follow me and support me from behind."
Zalvan wasn't going alone, he would take his adjutant with him.
The key was to make it look like the adjutant was merely following a few steps behind to assist.
This adjutant's specialty was throwing spears.
One well-timed throw would be enough.
Even if someone from the other side came to assist, the result wouldn't change.
There weren't many who could throw a spear as skillfully as this man.
"Let's go."
Hee-ying.
Zalvan spurred his horse forward, and his adjutant followed closely behind.
* * *
The guild master with Encrid's group was so astonished that he stood frozen, mouth agape. Only when two enemies emerged from the opposing side did he finally speak.
"Uh, shouldn't someone from our side go out too?"
He directed his question toward Rem or Ragna.
"Hah, not even close."
Rem replied with a yawn.
Over the past month, Encrid had shown them something.
There was no need to worry.
Ragna, on the other hand, was munching on an apple he had found somewhere.
He was chewing it so thoroughly, it seemed like he might eat the seeds too.
Jaxon said nothing. He stood with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. The guild master had no idea what he was thinking. That's how he appeared.
'Seriously, these people…'
Even the main force wasn't sending anyone?
The guild master turned his gaze to the main force. It was silent. There was some murmuring, but no one looked like they were about to charge in.
In fact, they were just watching.
Ingis had left, and Marcus had taken over command of the Kingdom's army.
His palms were sweating. If they lost this duel, they would lose the full-scale battle as well.
Once they lost the momentum, there would be no recovery.
That was how overwhelming the enemy forces were.
'Damn it.'
That was his first thought upon hearing the enemy's numbers.
After seeing their level of training, even Marcus felt his motivation waver, and that's when Encrid stepped up.
An unexpected moment, an unexpected action.
That's how the fight began.
Marcus hadn't seen Encrid fight in a long time, so he was quite surprised.
'Was he this good?'
The opponent was one of the five weapons raised by the Count.
Even for an adjutant, his skills were far from ordinary.
Yet, in a single strike, his waist was severed.
It wasn't luck or exploiting an opening. Encrid stood directly in front of him, crushing him with superior strength and speed.
That much Marcus could recognize.
He hesitated for a moment. They were on the edge of a cliff, one misstep and they'd fall. Or it was like standing in a marsh, trying to find solid ground.
Both situations were the same.
A single wrong move, one bad choice, and it would all be over. That's where this caution came from.
"Should I send reinforcements?"
Instead of making the decision alone, Marcus asked the Knight beside him, Asia.
"Just watch."
Asia responded with a grumpy tone, thinking to herself.
'I should be the one out there.'
Encrid hadn't said a word, hadn't given any signals, and had stepped out alone to face the enemy without any warning.
'I can't just stop everything and tell them to come fight me instead.'
For a moment, Asia imagined herself walking up to the enemy, canceling the duel, and demanding they start over.
Of course, that was absurd.
More than anything, if Encrid hadn't stepped forward, they would have lost before the fight even began.
They had already scouted the enemy's forces. The only thing they hadn't accounted for was the level of their training and the quality of their equipment.
The Count's forces were solid. Like a rock.
The difference in strength was dizzying.
It was only natural that everyone had frozen up for a moment after seeing it. The more experienced, the more it happened.
Did Encrid go out there not knowing this?
That wasn't the case either.
Encrid knew everything, yet didn't hesitate. He ran out alone to take responsibility for starting the battle.
Asia admitted defeat, both in terms of skill and in heart.
'That bastard.'
She thought to herself, watching Encrid.
From afar, she could see the man who had stepped out to fight.
The one who had once boasted that his dream was to become a Knight, half-shattering her own face in the process.
And the one who had saved her.
"Ah, go on. Kill them all."
Asia mumbled, her inner thoughts slipping out.
In the middle of the battlefield, with both armies watching, a battle cry rang out.
"Keeeyah!"
One of the five weapons.
It was Zalvan, the one wielding twin spears, charging forward. Even Asia could see it clearly.
* * *
Encrid saw the dust floating in the air. He also saw the droplets of blood splattered on the grass, round and distinct.
Roughly ten steps ahead, a man dismounted from his horse in one swift motion.
The moment his feet hit the ground, the dust kicked up beneath him, appearing as fine particles to Encrid's eyes.
The grass swayed in the wind. A faint rustling sound could be heard—the sound of blades of grass greeting each other.
He could feel the weight of the sword in his hand. He also felt the sensation and weight of his clothes and armor brushing against his body.
'A good weight.'
He had named the sword in his hand 'Silver'. And today, the weight of that sword felt especially satisfying.
Looking at the blade, he noticed it was slightly nicked. It could use a good sharpening with a whetstone.
"You must be confident in your skills to come this far. What's your name?"
The man approaching asked, but Encrid didn't answer. He simply took in everything around him, savoring it through his senses.
The wind brushed his cheek. The sunlight pressed down on his helmet. Ah, that part was a bit annoying.
Encrid took off his helmet.
The sunlight and wind felt closer now.
There wasn't even a single mound to hide behind on this vast plain. In other words, it was a perfect place for the wind to play.
The Naurillia Plains were once called the Land of Wind in ancient times.
The wind ran across the open earth, unimpeded. A never-ending race.
Whoooooosh!
A strong gust of wind blew from somewhere.
Zalvan instinctively braced his feet.
Encrid relaxed his body. The wind flowed over him, wrapping around him before dispersing.
Zalvan frowned. Did his opponent's body just float in the air for a moment? Or was it just his imagination?
He wanted to rub his eyes.
But on the contrary, Zalvan couldn't take his eyes off him for even a second.
Even the slightest lapse in concentration, and his opponent's blade would stab into his gut.
The previous guy wouldn't have lasted long even if he hadn't let his guard down. Seeing it up close now, Zalvan was sure of it.
'He's the real deal.'
His opponent's skill was above his own.
Zalvan tightened his grip on his spear. The veins on the back of his hand bulged.
He steeled himself and mentally mapped out how the battle would unfold.
'Block with the left hand.'
In the midst of his thoughts, Zalvan's gaze drifted to Encrid's waist. He noticed two more swords. A belt with daggers strapped across his chest was clearly visible.
Three swords in total. There was no way he carried them for no reason.
So he must use those as well.
As he observed more closely, Zalvan also saw a knife hidden near his ankle.
His opponent stood there, arms dangling loosely, as if blown by the wind.
'Again.'
Zalvan started over, mentally re-enacting the fight from scratch. Block with the sword in his left hand, then stab with the spear in his right, faster than anyone else.
'No, again.'
Sweat began to bead on Zalvan's forehead. This meant he was expending that much mental energy.
Once more, he reimagined the battle.
'Stab with the left. Force him to defend.'
Then, twist the handle of the spear in his right hand. That's it. Use every move he'd prepared. That's the right way.
His eyes stung. It was as if he was trapped in a prison where even blinking wasn't allowed. Yet Zalvan endured the pressure skillfully. He was a warrior who had crossed the river of death countless times.
This level of pressure was nothing new to him.
'I'll kill him.'
When he moved, his subordinate, as if an extension of his own body, would throw his spear.
'Even I won't be able to stop that.'
A spear thrown from outside his field of vision during the fight. And it was coming from a man with top-tier skill.
That adjutant could fight as well as most Squires.
In terms of spear-throwing alone, he could even be considered a Junior-Knight.
A bead of sweat dropped to the ground.
His opponent blinked. Zalvan flinched, his shoulders twitching.
Him? At a time like this, when you need all your focus, he's blinking? Relaxing? Blinking his eyes? For a moment, Zalvan almost sprang forward on impulse.
'An illusion?'
Is it a trick? It's a trick. The moment he judged that, Zalvan pushed off the ground with his feet.
He began closing the ten-step gap, inch by inch. It was a cautious approach.
Encrid watched the approaching enemy and saw beyond him.
Everything remained finely detailed, just as before. His senses still picked up every sensation from his body.
However, his field of vision suddenly widened, and he noticed everything around him.
First, the man creeping to the side in the back.
He'd interfere if things went wrong. The spear strapped to his back was bothersome.
He could also see the man approaching cautiously. His slow, hesitant movements were frustrating.
A thought crossed his mind at the same time.
'If I lose here, it'll be a big blow.'
He could already predict the outcome.
The enemy's forces were superior. In numbers and in training.
The Count had prepared thoroughly.
Still, it didn't seem too bad.
In the wars of the continent, a few elite soldiers could change the tide. The power of Knights could alter the course of a battlefield.
The first Knight was said to have redefined the meaning of the word 'Knight', which was once tied to titles and ranks.
Knights changed the shape of battle.
Encrid was here because he, too, wanted to change something.
'Change.'
Why did he want to become a Knight?
'To save and protect.'
To fight for what he believed was right and protect those behind him.
The moment he grasped a sword, that's how he wanted to live.
The words of a bard's song had pierced his heart and became the guidepost of his life.
He had walked and walked until this moment.
The dawn had left its mark on his faded and tattered dreams.
Ignoring the opponent's cautious steps, Encrid began striding forward.
His feet kicked the ground as he walked, almost as if he were half-running.
Yet, he didn't appear to be moving in a hurry.
As he swung his arms, the sword in his hand swayed along with them.
The distance between the two narrowed to within five steps. Zalvan kicked off the ground.
"Kee-yah!"
Zalvan thrust his spear with his left hand.
Encrid gripped Silver, twisting his wrist as he blocked diagonally in front of his chest.
Just because a strike is soft doesn't mean the blade becomes fluff.
The moment the blade met the tip of the spear, he let the force flow through. The sword absorbed the spear's power and continued forward.
He saw the enemy's eyes. Brown, bloodshot eyes. Was it particularly dry today? What's wrong with this guy's eyes?
Random thoughts intruded. The enemy lifted his right hand to thrust.
It didn't reach him. Still, the man pretended to stab forward.
Bang!
With a loud blast, the tip of the spear was launched. It was a specially equipped weapon.
Instead of pushing the flowing sword, Encrid pulled it back.
Clang! Clang!
It takes longer to explain than it happened. It was an incredibly brief moment.
Zalvan thrust with his left hand, shot the spear with his right, and there were two metallic clangs.
Immediately after, the sound of flesh tearing followed.
Thud!
Encrid blocked twice and swung once. All with the sword in his right hand.
His third strike pierced through the enemy's chest.
Zalvan had layered several pieces of leather armor, and he wore thick inner clothing that served as additional armor, but Encrid's sword cut through all of it, slicing into muscle and flesh, leaving a mark on his chest.
Precisely where the heart was.
The blood vessels in the enemy's eyes bulged even more.
"Guh!"
Coughing up blood, Zalvan staggered back a few steps before collapsing, his knees hitting the ground.
"Gah!"
Only then did the man behind Zalvan throw his spear. It flew straight for Encrid's face.
The pressure of the air hit his face first with a swoosh.
Encrid struck downward with his sword.
Thud!
The spear struck the path of the sword and was deflected to the side, rolling across the ground.
The adjutant, who had been preparing to throw a second spear, froze in place.
It was clear that even if he threw another, the result wouldn't be any different. His body stiffened on its own.
In the end, Encrid swung his sword a fourth time, finishing the fight.
Zalvan watched as the ground approached his face. His world turned red, and he thought:
'There was a gap in our skills from the start.'
His opponent was on a different level. He had attacked twice, and one of those was an unexpected shot with his spear, yet his opponent blocked it effortlessly.
How did it turn out like this?
The reason was simple.
Encrid had been faster and more precise. They had built themselves differently.
That was Zalvan's final conclusion.
Encrid flicked his sword in the air.
The man who had thrown the spear hadn't attacked again, nor did he flee.
He simply rolled his eyes in fear.
"Not going to fight?"
Encrid asked him calmly and casually. It wasn't a taunt or a demand, just a question to gauge his intentions.
At that moment, the adjutant, who had been clutching his spear, hesitated as a strange tension hung in the air.
"Madman!"
Suddenly, an impatient man from the enemy side charged forward, yanking on his reins as he rushed ahead.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The rider seemed like he would charge straight in, but he pulled his reins twenty steps away. From atop his horse, he drew his bow and aimed. He was quite skilled.
Mounted archers were a rare sight.
An arrow shot while closing the distance would be as fast as a flash of light.
Encrid watched the enemy fire the arrow and shook his left hand.
He naturally imbued the motion with intent.
He sped up the motion of drawing and throwing his sword.
Whoosh, swoosh.
The sword and arrow crossed paths, following different trajectories.
Thud!
A satisfying sound echoed.
The archer, twenty steps away, was struck by Encrid's sword just after releasing his arrow, his body lifted slightly behind his horse.
The sword that Encrid had thrown had flown straight into the enemy's chest.
Though the arrow flying toward him was just a speck to Encrid, it was still within his perception. Without hesitation, he had thrown his sword and rolled to the side to dodge.
Thud!
The arrow embedded itself into the ground. Meanwhile, the horse, now riderless, galloped off to the side.
Clop, clop, clop!
Neigh!
The horse let out a long cry, as if it knew its rider had died.
The man hit in the chest by the sword was thrown off his horse and rolled across the ground, his blood soaking the grass.
Encrid calmly walked over and pulled out his Gladius.
There was a sickening crack as ribs were split and broken.
But what if the enemy he had just defeated had been given three more chances today?
Encrid felt as though he could prove it here.
Instead of three more days, he had condensed all of it into one month.
Today, Encrid felt unusually light.