"Line up!"
It seed Enkrid wasn't the only one enjoying this situation as Krais boldly stepped forward, shouting without hesitation upon seeing Enkrid arrive.
Yet the others' gazes never wavered from Enkrid. Their eyes seed to hold questions.
Enkrid instinctively t each gaze in turn.
The half-giant warrior's eyes seed to say:
"Keep your promise to fight again."
The one called Jevikal wore a provoking smirk, shrugging as if to dismiss Enkrid as insignificant—a taunting gesture, though it ca off crude and unpolished.
"I've co to settle a debt," declared the Molsen Count's son with a commanding tone, assuming without question that he would go first.
Lastly, the swordsman from the Rokfried caravan, who once mocked Enkrid for pursuing the path of the blade, widened his eyes as he scanned Enkrid from head to toe.
He made no effort to hide his astonishnt. In fact, he outright voiced it:
"Unbelievable. You've really improved. I thought even a hundred deaths wouldn't make it possible."
He wasn't wrong.
Enkrid had indeed reached this point by risking his life hundreds of tis—not rely coming close to death but truly dying countless tis to arrive here.
Though, of course, no one else could know that.
Now, Enkrid had to decide: Who should I fight first?
"What's this nonsense about lining up? Hey, you fought that woman yesterday and survived? Impressive."
It was Jevikal, flashing that insufferable grin. There was sothing inherently unlikable about him, but his deanor wasn't the most pressing matter.
From his stance to the way he let his arms hang, every detail revealed his skill. His positioning allowed him to draw his blade at any mont, poised for action.
Enkrid found himself marveling.
"It's amazing that I can notice these things now."
"Think. And think again."
Audin's words resurfaced in his mind like a mantra.
"I don't care who I fight first," Enkrid concluded aloud.
"What... Are you saying you can beat anyone?"
The response ca from... Who was it again? Enkrid had heard the na earlier but promptly forgot it.
"Sorry, what was your na again? The Count's son?"
When Enkrid asked, Edin Molsen's face turned crimson.
True provocation requires sincerity. Jevikal's attempt had been clumsy, but Enkrid's question cut deep—because he genuinely didn't rember.
"WHAT?"
Edin's disbelief quickly morphed into anger. Ignoring the stares of the others, he declared, "I'll teach you so manners."
Edin stepped forward.
"I said, line up!"
Krais, seemingly fearless, spoke up again. This ti, Edin's fury turned toward the towering soldier.
"If you wish to die, keep talking, soldier," Edin threatened, oozing arrogance.
Krais rely shrugged.
"It's just... You're causing a bit of trouble here. Blocking the path for the rchants' wagons and pedestrians."
"Fine. I'll kill you first," Edin snapped. Drawing his sword, he stepped toward Krais with deadly intent.
But before the blade could descend, Krais darted behind Rem, shouting, "Rem! Captain! Captain!"
Edin's sword paused mid-air as Krais sought refuge behind Rem, who sighed and muttered, "Why do you always manage to be so irritating?"
Stepping forward, Rem casually swung his twin hand axes, their movent relaxed yet deliberate. His slouched posture belied the sharpness of his gaze.
"Listen, seems to he's got a point. How about we move this elsewhere?" Rem suggested, sweeping his gaze over the group to emphasize his point.
Then he noticed sothing that left him montarily stunned.
"This crazy captain..."
What had Rem noticed?
Enkrid, seemingly energized by the crowd's attention, was assessing the distance between himself and three opponents: the half-giant warrior, the rapier-wielding swordsman, and Jevikal.
It wasn't just posturing. He genuinely appeared ready to take them all on at once.
"He's going to get himself killed one day."
Unbeknownst to Rem, Enkrid had already died countless tis before.
"This is pure greed, brother,"
As Audin spoke from behind, the sharp, tense atmosphere radiating from Enkrid seed to ease slightly.
"Whatever this is about, it's not sothing worth causing harm to the city over," Audin stated.
The rapier swordsman nodded in agreent, stepping back.
"Well, I don't really care," Jevikal added, retreating a step as well. Seeing this, the half-giant warrior also subdued his presence without a word.
"...I did clear out the area behind the inn," spoke Allen, the innkeeper. A shrewd businessman at heart, he had noticed the tension brewing and seed to predict that all of them would likely stay in the city—and more importantly, perhaps his inn.
None of them appeared to be particularly concerned with money, and there was an air of ease about them.
Recently, the inn had faced minor competition due to rumors of Vanessa's pumpkin soup and herbal pies drawing patrons. Allen, however, had chosen a different angle to stand out—not food, but space.
Behind the inn, he had constructed a proper training ground, complete with adequate room for sparring.
"Excellent," Enkrid said with a nod.
Soon, Allen began leading the group toward the back of the inn. While everyone moved, Rem approached Enkrid.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed? If you've hit your head, you should rest."
"At the very least, I don't want to hear that from you," Enkrid shot back.
Krais, overhearing the exchange, chid in.
"What do you think, Captain?"
He was fishing for praise, clearly pleased with how his sche had played out. Enkrid couldn't deny it—the situation had turned out quite favorably, like planting seeds and yielding a bountiful harvest.
"This month's guild dues? Take them," Enkrid offered.
For Krais, this was a significant reward, perhaps the most aningful thing in his life.
"Much obliged," Krais replied with a grin.
As they exchanged banter while walking, Edin, the last one to remain, finally erupted in rage.
"You insolent wretches! Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"
If he were a dragon, he'd have breathed fire.
Ah, right. I almost forgot, Enkrid thought to himself before making a decision.
"I'll take on the Count's son first. Everyone else, kindly wait your turn."
Even if Edin was insufferably arrogant, he was still the son of the Molsen Count—the so-called King of the North. So degree of respect was due.
"You insolent fool! I'll strip you of your arrogance myself," Edin snarled.
With Edin leading the way, his two companions followed closely behind. The trio passed Enkrid and his group without another word.
Whatever the outco, Enkrid found himself content.
The group moved silently to the inn's back lot, which had been transford into a spacious sparring ground. An old warehouse had been demolished, its foundation replaced with neatly laid slate. Chairs had even been set up, creating a space that looked intentionally designed for duels.
"The Count's son will go first! Please wait your turn!"
Krais played the role of a circus clown, hyping up the atmosphere. To Enkrid's mild surprise, there were no complaints—just quiet observation.
In so eyes, there was curiosity. In others, a touch of arrogance.
Enkrid stood face to face with Edin.
Edin raised his blade and declared, "Co at first!"
Enkrid did as he was told.
He strode forward deliberately, closing the distance. His own sword remained sheathed.
"Are you mocking ?" Edin growled, clenching his teeth as he swung his sword downward with all his strength.
Yet Enkrid didn't stop.
Why?
Because he wanted to show everyone watching.
Show them what he could do.
Show them what his sword was.
Show them the kind of person they had co to witness.
Perhaps it was reckless. Or perhaps it was bold confidence.
If his intent succeeded, it would be seen as valor. If not, re folly.
After all, the line between confidence and arrogance is razor-thin.
And Enkrid chose confidence.
He watched the descending sword without flinching. At the last mont, he drew his blade with his left hand.
Sching!
In a single fluid motion, he raised his sword, catching Edin's strike—not at the center of the blade, but near the hilt, the ricasso.
The closer to the hilt, the easier it is to absorb force.
Thunk.
Despite the power behind Edin's swing, the sound was dull, thanks to how Enkrid bent his knees to channel and disperse the impact.
Then ca the bind.
The swords locked, and Enkrid seized the mont. Stepping forward with his left foot, he closed the distance, twisting his torso as he launched his right fist forward.
Crack!
Though defense and offense appeared distinct, the actions unfolded so seamlessly that they seed like a single motion.
"Guk!"
Even with leather armor for protection, Enkrid's punch was more than just heavy—it was a weapon in itself.
It was a strike that even the half-giant warrior, quietly observing, couldn't help but find impressive.
The months of strength training hadn't been in vain. With that single blow, Edin coughed up sothing involuntarily.
Edin Molsen—better than when he stood at his father's side, sure. But still...
Not enough.
His practical combat experience was lacking, and many aspects of his technique felt unpolished. If it were a drawn-out duel relying on tactical exchanges, Edin might stand a chance. But against unpredictability, he was weak. That was Enkrid's conclusion.
In so ways, it was a reckless move.
Walking in defenselessly to block the opponent's attack and land a single punch?
If there had been any mistake, the advantage would have shifted to Edin.
But in combat, results matter more than thod.
Enkrid stood over the fallen Edin, raising his gaze.
"You, just going to keep watching from the sidelines?"
The question was directed at Edin's escort.
The bodyguard's expression hardened as his piercing eyes t Enkrid's.
Clenching his jaw, the escort shook his head—a refusal.
He didn't seem like the type to shy away from a fight. Perhaps he thought it wasn't the right ti.
It didn't matter. There were plenty of others left to face.
The rapier swordsman was genuinely astonished.
Has he improved?
Watching soone's stance was one thing; seeing them in real combat was another.
Enkrid was seasoned, bold, and capable of enjoying the fight itself.
It was unexpected.
To the swordsman, imagining Enkrid transforming like this had seed impossible.
He's improved imnsely.
How could this be described?
What was once a barren wasteland had sohow turned into a lush green field.
"Remarkable," he muttered to himself.
Enkrid didn't seem like a prodigy, yet his skills had grown at an abnormal rate.
"Surprising, isn't it?"
A female warrior, towering a few heads taller than him, spoke beside him.
"Well, you wouldn't know what he was like before," the swordsman replied.
"What matters is now," she said, her eyes gleaming.
This woman was no ordinary person, either. She carried an air of sothing exceptional.
She glanced at the rapier swordsman as if questioning his nature.
Who are you, really?
But that was as far as their mutual interest went.
Neither felt compelled to probe further.
Right now, they each had soone more important to focus on.
The rapier swordsman felt curiosity surge—a rare feeling for him.
Once hailed as the reincarnation of Frok, he had always been susceptible to intrigue.
And now, he wanted to fight Enkrid. To asure him, to test himself against him.
But before he could act, the female warrior stepped forward.
"My turn, then?"
"Not so fast."
Audin interrupted with a grin. "How about sparring with for a day, sister? Looks like our friend over there is eager to get his hands dirty."
The swordsman called Jevikal stepped forward, signaling his intent.
"Good eye, big guy," the female warrior remarked.
She wasn't wrong. Watching Enkrid fight had stirred sothing in Jevikal as well.
There was sothing about him that made you want to slice him up.
"Suits . I'll leave him to you," she said, stepping aside.
Jevikal made his way to the center of the sparring ground. His eyes were fixed on Enkrid.
"You're good with your fists," Jevikal said.
"I'd like to think I'm better with a sword," Enkrid replied calmly.
The audacity of that response.
Jevikal's grin vanished. His exterior joviality had always been deceptive.
When he was smiling, he wasn't truly enjoying himself.
But when his expression turned serious, it ant he was having fun.
I'll take an arm.
That'll change his attitude.
Jevikal prided himself on reading his opponent's temperant.
And on breaking it.
Those steady, resolute eyes—he would relish the mont they filled with fear.
The very thought thrilled him.
I can't wait to cut him apart.
He would press his advantage slowly, like a chef preparing a al.
And he hoped Enkrid wouldn't crumble after just a few scratches.
Jevikal sincerely wished for a fight worth savoring.
The duel between them lasted a while.
Both used an array of precise techniques, constantly probing each other.
By the end, Jevikal had managed to leave sixteen cuts on Enkrid's body.
One of those strikes, a puncture in the abdon, could have been fatal if it had landed slightly differently.
Even so...
"You're sothing else," Jevikal remarked.
Yet Enkrid's unyielding gaze remained unchanged.
Jevikal smiled—only because he wasn't truly enjoying this.
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