The Will of Rejection, which he had realized thanks to a mad Shepherd's sword.
Then, the Will of Moment, which he obtained through exploring speed.
The Crushing Sword, derived from Intimidation.
Encrid had awakened his will on his own and advanced forward.
As he did, he naturally reflected on the path he had walked and envisioned the path ahead.
The Crushing Sword was a middle sword, and the instantaneous sword was a fast sword.
The Will of Rejection was a way of steadying the mind, and though not imbued with Will, there was a sword technique close to a counterattack, abbreviated as the Snake Sword, which, despite being swung gently, would not turn the blade into a soft cushion.
And now, at this moment.
He had once witnessed and faced the sword of a man who severed the flow.
It wasn't that he fought thoughtlessly, intoxicated with exhilaration. He observed everything. He experienced it as his body endured it.
There was something he learned through reflection.
What was the secret of the flow-severing sword technique?
It was the eyes.
The man's Will resided in his eyes.
By observing, grasping, and judging, he severed the flow.
Thus, he could not sever the flow of a superior opponent. It was a technique close to being incomplete.
Encrid had also witnessed the iron-wall technique that the man named Lierbart had used before he transformed.
It was an absolute defense through shield and armor.
It was a technique meant to wear down the opponent through a prolonged battle.
What was the key to achieving it?
Endurance? The strength to hold by training the body's core? Firm leg strength?
There was only one thing that was most important.
'Persistence.'
It was the Will of Persistence.
Of all the techniques Encrid had seen, it was the one that manifested Will for the longest time.
The iron-wall defense was a technique where the will, called persistence, resided at the core of the body to hold out.
Eyes and persistence.
He understood, reflected, and realized.
Now, he mixes in the sense of attack. It's about infusing sensitivity, the kind that opens the Gate of Sixth Sense.
What he wanted to do was simple: infuse Will into the Correct Sword Technique, also known as the Trapping Sword.
And the reason it was possible was clear.
He had already experienced it before. He had done it.
It was when he faced the centaur leader who wielded a glaive.
His senses had gone wild, predicting the opponent's actions based on countless experiences. His heightened senses allowed him to avoid and deflect attacks by glimpsing into the future.
It was a moment where accumulated experiences led to enlightenment.
A moment where determination turned into will, shining and interfering with reality.
It was a moment when the intangible force called Will manifested in the real world.
Encrid's eyes looked at his opponent's entire body. The movement of the muscles, the changes in the fingers, the direction of the feet, the differences in breathing, even the influence of the dust swirling in the air.
His senses rampaged uncontrollably. For an ordinary person, their head would have burst from the flood of information.
Encrid selectively took in only what was necessary.
This was an ability made possible by today's repeated death-defying experiences.
Thanks to the accumulated experiences, his sense of judgment about what was necessary and unnecessary was incomparably heightened.
Although the sword flying towards him was as thin as a thread, the fact that he barely blocked it meant that he could still react.
Despite the danger and threat, Encrid, in such a situation, named his Will-based technique.
By naming it, he was able to fully recognize and use it.
Eyes that see a step ahead.
It was the name of a skill based on Will. Encrid saw his opponent's next move in advance.
As he said, he had experienced something similar before, but this time it was several times clearer and more vivid than back then.
Thus, the sword built upon countless accumulated experiences traced a line toward the future, toward tomorrow.
Had it been Ragna, he might have reached it in an instant, but Encrid had walked and arrived in his own way, so there was no need to envy another's talent.
This was the decisive difference between the opponent before him and Encrid.
Since he knew neither despair nor hopelessness, he could forget envy and simply move forward.
Hwoong!
For the first time, he dodged the thread-thin sword. Lierbart's sword cut through part of Encrid's hair as it passed by.
The severed strands exploded and scattered into the air.
In that brief moment, Encrid slashed with the minimum movement and action.
In truth, it was the result of reading and rereading the opponent's moves several times.
Using the Trapping Sword, he fanned the flames to block, applied the Crushing Sword to hold his ground, and finally delivered a strike.
The short and roughened tip of the Gladius stabbed into the opponent's chest.
Even if he had transformed into a monster, that didn't mean he had two hearts.
Thump!
The sensation of the blade penetrating the muscle traveled through the handle.
As soon as Encrid stabbed, he threw himself backward. Lierbart's left fist passed through the spot where Encrid had just been.
If that punch had landed, something would surely have broken.
Encrid evaded by falling backward, and even as his posture was disrupted, he kicked the sword he had stabbed.
Smack! Thump!
The tip of the sword pierced out through the opponent's back.
"Gugh!"
Lierbart coughed up blood. Dark red blood gushed over Encrid's face.
Encrid, rolling backward with the falling blood, hid a Whistle Dagger in his left hand while gripping the hilt of Silver in his right.
Dark red blood dripped down his chin. Without batting an eye, Encrid raised his sword while kneeling on one knee.
His eyes ached sharply, and his head throbbed painfully.
His rampaging senses, combined with his sixth sense, allowed him to predict the opponent's movements. It was no wonder his head hurt.
This technique couldn't be used against actual Knights. But the opponent right now wasn't a Knight.
Having fought him, Encrid clearly felt it.
"Damn you, God."
Lierbart spoke as he looked at the sword stuck in his chest. Soon, blood began to pour from his eyes as well.
His gaze didn't reach Encrid.
He was looking back at his past life.
He had been called a genius. They had said he would be the hero to raise his family. He had advanced and advanced, but what had he grasped in the end? What had he seen at the end of the road?
Nothing but an endless cliff.
Only darkness with no path forward.
Only a wall that wouldn't let his hand reach what he sought.
"You damn God."
He resented the world.
He cursed it endlessly.
Lierbart pulled the steel from his chest with his own hand.
Blood gushed out of the hole left by the sword.
It was a fatal wound. He couldn't survive it.
Or perhaps he could.
Lierbart knew the Count's secret. If he went to the Count, maybe he could reattach his life.
Hadn't his body already turned into a chimera?
So, there was nothing wrong with struggling to live a bit longer.
But even if he lived, what could he do?
There was no path to return to anymore.
'Even with this, I can't be a Knight?'
Even though he had sacrificed everything solely for that goal?
So now, it was over.
His eyes turned toward the one who had dragged him back into this harsh reality.
Now that he had arrived once again in a world filled with nothing but resentment, despair, and frustration, Lierbart cursed his opponent.
"You will end up the same way."
It was the desperate struggle of someone who wanted to become a Knight.
"Though I doubt you'll survive this."
It was a curse, laden with the desire for his opponent to just die.
Of course, Encrid didn't pay the slightest attention. He didn't even respond.
Lierbart collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. His knees buckled first, and he fell forward.
Around his fallen body, dark red blood flowed and soaked into the ground.
Encrid stared at it indifferently, thinking.
Blood, earth, death.
It still didn't sit right with him.
The battle was still ongoing elsewhere, but around Encrid, there was only silence.
There was no cheer of victory, no disappointment of defeat.
The impact of the fight between Encrid and Lierbart was simply too great for such reactions.
Far behind, an old Commander of the Kingdom's army, who had witnessed the entire duel, clenched his fist and spoke.
"Have you ever seen a fight between two Knight orders? I just saw something beyond that."
The Commander muttered, and his adjutant nodded slightly in agreement.
A shiver ran down the Commander's entire body. As he continued to watch the battlefield, Encrid's voice rang out.
"This war ends here."
It sounded like a command to stop fighting.
"Everyone, stop fighting. I'll put an end to this cursed war."
He spoke again.
If it didn't feel right, then it was time to stop.
But how do you stop a war that's already begun?
If words don't work, then you stop it by force.
And if anyone dares to encourage more fighting, you smack them across the nose.
Encrid had already become a master at stopping fights, even between people like Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin, whose talents were practically on the level of Knights' grandmasters.
"What? Are you saying we should stop fighting now?"
Rem said as he approached, having watched for who knows how long.
He wasn't the only one.
"Then what do we do now?"
Ragna was there too.
"It wasn't bad at all."
Jaxon was also present.
All three had been cutting down enemies. Sensing Lierbart's transformation, they had made their way over here.
Ragna had fought his way through a wall of shields, refining his own technique as he advanced.
Rem had split the head of a man wildly swinging two hammers, and even split a Fairy's body in half along the way.
Jaxon had killed all five of the hidden adjutants of the Five Blades scattered around the battlefield.
None of them had been a match for him.
The three could have interfered in Encrid's fight, but they chose not to.
The sword before their eyes was evolving. It would've been a lie to say they weren't astonished by it.
That's why they didn't interfere.
The intent to change and the will to win were clearly visible.
Rem, Ragna, and Jaxon couldn't help but be impressed.
By now, there was no way they could treat Encrid lightly.
Though it was natural that the battle wouldn't easily stop just because Encrid spoke up, the fighting around him slowly began to cease.
"Tell them to stop fighting."
Encrid said with a long sigh. He wasn't without fatigue.
But that didn't mean he had any intention of repeating 'today'. Thus, they had to move forward.
Rem, for some reason, really liked this Commander.
As foolish as it seemed, the declaration to end the war, that arrogance, resonated with him.
It wasn't because he was confident that he could achieve it.
It was because he had declared that he would keep going until he succeeded.
It was determination. It was Will.
And that's why Rem liked him.
"Anyone who keeps fighting will meet my axe! Stop, all of you!"
What Encrid had shown was terrifying, but Rem also rampaged like a madman.
He didn't care whether they were friend or foe—Rem had a wild madness in him that promised destruction.
Rem revealed that madness now. His gleaming eyes and blood-soaked axe caught everyone's attention.
It was only natural that everyone stopped fighting.
"If you want to keep fighting, I'll take you on."
Ragna also stepped forward.
Jaxon, meanwhile, shrewdly looked toward the back.
He focused his gaze on the Commanders.
His eyes pressured them to make a choice. There was a murderous intent in his gaze, hinting that if they ordered the fighting to continue, he would pick them off one by one.
"Everyone, stop!"
One of the Commanders shouted.
Encrid had impressed more than one of the Commanders.
"Fall back! Fall back!"
"The unnecessary killing ends here!"
Each of them spoke out.
In the distance, even Marcus was beating the drums.
It was a signal not to retreat but to pause the engagement.
Boom! Boom!
Not all of the Count's subordinates were fools. They respected the presence of the chimera unit and the Count's grand ambitions, but...
'Is this really right?'
Some had begun to feel that this fight wasn't about winning but about dying. Those individuals began to move, halting the fighting.
"Stop, stop and step back!"
Something unfolded before their eyes that even a bard would have found ridiculous.
The fighting stopped.
Encrid, observing the now-still battlefield, began walking toward one direction.
The sky was dim and overcast. The clouds had blocked the sunlight, making it appear dark even though it was midday.
Despite this, Encrid's figure was imprinted in everyone's mind.
Following him were Rem, Ragna, and Jaxon.
Finally, Dunbachel, who had appeared from who knows where, joined them.
As they moved forward, the Count himself, veins bulging with anger, came out to meet them.
Five guards armed with swords, spears, and axes stood beside him.
Encrid looked at the five and couldn't tell if Lierbart had been a fool or if the Count was just a bastard. The stench of death emanated from those five as well.
"That panther woman is quite the talent, isn't she?"
The Count spoke with a smile on his lips, but the veins on his forehead were bulging. His face seemed split in two: the upper half looked enraged, while the lower half appeared as if it were trying to smile. It was clear something wasn't going according to plan.
"My talents are even more impressive. Shall I show you?"
Encrid replied, and a smile crept onto the Count's face. His lips curled up, revealing teeth that appeared strangely black.
"Do you think Lierbart was everything?"
The Count gestured, though even that movement seemed awkward.
It was clear that Esther had done something to him.
At the Count's gesture, the five heavily armed guards stepped forward.
Creak.
Their muscles twisted and swelled. Hair sprouted from their bodies as they began to transform.
They couldn't exactly be called werewolves. It was more like parts of monsters had been grafted onto human bodies, blending monster fur and muscles with human flesh.
That's exactly how they looked.
"Disgusting freaks."
Rem said, resting his axe on his shoulder.
Lierbart had been considered a finished product.
By contrast, these seemed a little broken.
Even if they had strength mimicking a Knight's, it was clear that the swollen, bubble-covered parts of their faces weren't normal.
But five of them? That was a lot.
Encrid thought to himself that while he might be able to handle one, he wasn't sure if he could continue fighting afterward.
After all, his body had been pushed to its limit in the fight against Lierbart.
Yet he had no intention of retreating.
"I will end this war."
It was a declaration. A manifestation of Will. Therefore, it was a visible force of Intimidation.
Encrid took a step forward.
The five guards glared at him with their bloodshot eyes.
"Are you going to do this alone?"
Rem was to his left.
"Two of them are mine."
Ragna was on his right.
"Just stand back and watch."
Jaxon, who had taken three steps away, said.
Dunbachel also clenched her teeth and stood beside Rem.
It was a precarious balance, to say the least.
The Count, watching them, spoke.
"Time is on my side."
Was this an attempt to provoke them, to make them impatient?
As the standoff intensified, the tension between the two groups grew thicker. It felt as though if a dry leaf fell, it would immediately ignite a fire.
Footsteps echoed in that tense situation, bold and calm. They came from behind Encrid. Though he didn't turn his head, there was no need to.
"Brothers, please step back for a moment."
It was reinforcements.
A man with a bear-like stature approached and stood right behind Encrid.
"Who dared to trouble my fiance?"
And he wasn't alone. A thinner, pleasant voice accompanied him.