Chapter 680 - A Night of Realization and Killing Intent
"If you slack off just because the shop collapsed, will soone buy you bread? I can’t send my daughter off to marriage empty-handed. Or will you take her instead?"
It was when he opened the door of his intuition.
The shoemaker, despite losing his workshop, had not stopped working.
It was an unforgettable sight, etched clearly in his mory.
It wasn’t exactly a grand spectacle, but the craftsman had displayed his work, and Enkrid had observed it.
Lifting the tanned leather, striking it, stitching it, applying adhesive—forming the shape, setting it firmly in place—each motion flowed seamlessly.
What had he thought upon seeing that?
"How long must one do sothing to beco that skilled?"
That must have been his thought, followed by the belief that if he endlessly swung his sword, he too would grow accustod to it.
As always, back then, his days were a continuous cycle of worries about how to move forward.
He also recalled the sight of Aetri wielding his hamr.
"Was there ever a mont of hesitation in his hands?"
Never—not even once.
Whether sharpening a sword on a whetstone or striking heated tal, Aetri’s hands moved without pause.
If one had walked the sa path hundreds, thousands of tis, they could navigate it even with their eyes closed.
Such was Aetri’s craft with tal.
And what about the Frog beside him?
That Frog, who had once said she would drive nails into her own slippery hands if necessary to craft ornants—was there ever a trace of awkwardness in her movents?
There was none.
Not in the slightest.
Long before dawn, she would wake, take up tools suited to her hands, lt silver, bind gold, shape various tals—always drawing forth the images in his mind.
There was no room for clumsiness in sothing repeated without rest, day after day.
Even when mistakes piled up and failures erged one after another, her hands naturally moved on to the ’next’ step.
He had not seen everything, but by watching the practiced motions, he understood—they must have repeated the sa task for an unfathomable length of ti.
Snap!
One day, Jaxen had suddenly approached in complete silence and snapped his fingers.
Startled by the sound, Enkrid had instinctively snapped his head toward it.
"How did you just turn your head? Did you think about turning it? Did you first register the sound, identify its direction, and then turn? Or did you simply react?"
Jaxen had said there was no simpler way to explain it, yet at the ti, Enkrid still did not understand.
He had vaguely grasped that it was similar to using Will, but he had not truly felt it.
The giant rchant naturally spread the word about the value of his wares.
The woman roasting jerky controlled the heat and seasoning without any conscious effort.
Did she hesitate or second-guess herself in the process?
"She did not."
Had he not been in awe watching the Tattered Saint and the woman roasting jerky before him?
Her motions were flawlessly synchronized, utterly seamless.
And did the Tattered Saint groan when using his divine power?
"No, it was completely natural."
The sa applied to what he had taught Seiki.
He had told her to wield divine power as naturally as breathing, to play with it, to toss it around freely.
Seiki herself had once said:
"I’ve known how to handle divine power since I was young. I only later realized that I could actually manifest it."
Audin had also put it simply:
"You just do it. It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you don’t."
Even Ragna, half-asleep, had mumbled:
"Just as I’ve swung my sword more than ten thousand tis and mastered the motion of cutting, you simply need to use Will reflexively. I’ve already done it."
Then, if Aetri could do it, so should he.
If the woman roasting jerky could do it, so should he.
While they forged tal and cooked at, he had wielded his sword and moved his Will.
Thanks to the unfailing wellspring within him, he had spent an impossibly condensed period of ti practicing.
He used it, again and again, repeating it every day.
Yet, he had thought it wouldn’t work.
Why?
Because Will was the manifestation of intent—so he believed one must first perceive an action before executing it.
"Why wouldn’t it work? It’s an obsession, you crazy bastard. You think Will only moves if you consciously exert intent? That Will and intent are the sa thing? Do you really believe that?"
Will stemd from intent.
Or did it not?
It did.
Yet Rem had said Will and intent were not the sa.
At the ti, he could not understand.
But now, he did.
There had been no grand revelation—rely the mory of the woman roasting jerky ca to mind, and suddenly, Enkrid could move his Will naturally as he wielded his sword.
His initial goal had been to master swordsmanship beyond his specialty, but the answer had beco clear.
"Everything must beco my specialty."
If swinging the sword naturally ant he didn’t need a specific specialty, then so be it.
Perhaps not everyone did it this way, but he would.
That was all that mattered.
"No, Audin carves vast circles, but when needed, he can beco a sharp awl."
An awl pierces through a circle.
But it is also more prone to breaking.
"Adaptability."
That was the defining trait of a higher-ranked knight.
One must be able to switch between broad and narrow techniques as needed.
Thinking back on it, he realized just how monstrous the soldiers in his unit were.
"Every ti I caught up to them, they evolved further, developing adaptability and surpassing once again."
Though Enkrid himself had been the one to lead this transformation, that fact was neither here nor there at the mont.
All he felt now was the satisfaction of being among such incredible warriors.
How fortunate it was to have such people right beside him.
He rembered Marcus once telling him about the forr battalion commander who had assembled the notorious troublemakers into one unit.
Wasn’t that man called an opportunist, only interested in his own survival?
"I suddenly feel like eting him."
To think he might even owe the man so gratitude.
"Hah."
Amidst these thoughts, sothing new surfaced in his mind, expanding his understanding.
It wasn’t just about swordsmanship.
Was Will truly exclusive to knights?
A different notion stirred awake in so hidden corner of his thoughts.
"Ordinary people also use Will naturally."
Of course, using it wasn’t easy, and even if they did, it wasn’t visible.
But they did use it.
This wasn’t speculation—it was certainty.
He had seen it with his own eyes.
Even now, he recognized it in them.
The woman roasting jerky, Aetri hamring tal—they unconsciously wielded Will.
Thus, if soone reached the pinnacle of their craft, enough to be called a master, then it could be said that they, too, were using Will.
’No, if their source is the sa, maybe it’s not Will but rather mana?’
Or perhaps they needed a term exclusive to them.
One thing was certain, though—technique alone was not everything.
The dwarf who had once visited Aetri possessed greater slting skills than Aetri at the ti, yet he did not exude any sense of majesty.
Thinking of majesty, his thoughts extended toward Krang as well.
Krang was both a sharp spike and a radiant star—soone who stood out no matter where he was.
His majesty could not be hidden, even if he wore tattered clothes.
’The value Krang holds lies within him.’
And what resided within him?
He had an inkling as to why Krang’s words captivated people.
Dignity, majesty, and the force he exuded were likely all manifestations of Will.
’Many people unconsciously use Will, even if just a little.’
It was the privilege of those who dedicated themselves to their craft, pouring in their effort and ti.
Or it was sothing one was simply born with.
Lost in thought, his senses stirred, sending a faint signal.
Enkrid felt the wind as it blew and caught a scent.
It always started with a sll.
His nose twitched as he sorted through various scents.
The sweat of his group, worn from their forced march.
The dicinal scent clinging to Anne.
The faint, lingering sll of blood from Ragna.
The perfu Grida used.
The tallic scent of their weapons.
Everything was familiar, a mixture of slls he had encountered before.
Yet, weaving through them was a distinctly different scent.
A faint stench of blood and a sharp, acrid odor.
Next ca sound.
The wind rustled through the dense foliage.
Rustle.
Interwoven within that noise was sothing else entirely.
And lastly, touch.
His fine hairs stood on end as his sensitivity sharpened.
For a brief mont, Enkrid perceived everything around him, searching.
Like oil mixing with water, his five senses rged into a sixth, expanding his perception.
A chilling sensation crept up the back of his neck.
Enkrid turned his head and adjusted the position of his sword.
The tip of the blade in his right hand rose slightly.
That subtle movent made Ragna and the three from the Yohan family react.
Ignoring them, Enkrid turned his head, looking up to his left.
If one could see murderous intent, what form would it take?
His heightened senses and newfound understanding—his instinctive use of Will—coalesced, shaping it into a visual form.
A short, sharp needle.
Flying from afar.
Piercing straight toward its target.
His maximized perception unfolded the page of the future before him.
And on that page, he saw a blackened sar embedding itself into Anne’s head.
Its exact nature was unknown.
But the murderous intent was unmistakable.
His Samcheol traced a smooth arc.
Enkrid shifted his left foot to the side, distributing his weight evenly between both legs, and brought his sword upward in a straight slash.
Because he moved the mont he saw the killing intent, to an observer, it would appear as though he rely raised his blade and imdiately swung it.
Thud!
A sound followed.
Flesh tearing and bursting.
Kiiiiik!
A death cry, sothing only a beast would utter.
Enkrid saw black blood raining down above Anne’s head.
"Ragna."
Calling out as he swung his sword, Ragna reacted instantly.
Springing up, he drew his greatsword and slashed diagonally through the air.
Even as he straightened his knees, the force behind his strike was already at its peak.
He appeared to be swinging at empty space, yet his instincts told him sothing was there.
Shlick!
Kiiiik!
The sounds followed—flesh being torn apart, a piercing shriek ringing in their ears.
Enkrid confird what he had cut down.
A bat fiend.
Its fangs were grotesquely elongated, far longer than any normal bat’s.
It was split clean in two, spilling blood and entrails—already dead.
Then his eyes landed on what Ragna had struck.
An owl bear.
A monster resembling an owl, often called a ’hunter of the night.’
A creature that, when determined to hide its presence, was difficult to detect.
’The fact that they got this close without us noticing... sothing is off.’
It was reminiscent of how Jaxen had approached them deliberately.
No matter how well bats or owl bears concealed their presence, this was beyond that.
Beyond the murderous intent of the monsters and fiends, Enkrid sensed sothing else.
A recognition honed through his training with Esther and through slicing through Walking Fire.
The scent of a spell lingered in the air.
If he were to compare—Esther’s magic slled like dry firewood beneath the night sky.
This one, however, was a sickly-sweet stench, like crushed fruit squeezed to its very last drop.
A scent so thick it barely registered.
A suffocating sweetness, present but elusive.
It was intense, yet imperceptible to those untrained.
Even Enkrid only barely caught it.
And along with it, a sense of incongruity.
Both the bat fiend and the owl bear had focused on a single target.
’Why?’
His gaze landed on Anne—the freckled woman who, though startled and frightened, did not scream.
’Why are they after Anne?’
Could monsters and fiends even possess that level of awareness?
Was it re coincidence?
"Magrun."
The mont Enkrid called for Magrun, Grida reacted, turning her head toward the surroundings.
"Odin, secure the periter. What the hell are these monsters?"
The group had gathered around the crackling campfire.
"What the hell is going on?"
Magrun approached, wary of their surroundings.
It was absurd to be this on edge over re monsters.
But the recent attack had put them all on high alert.
A knight was not immune to poison.
A knight would still bleed if struck.
And monsters and fiends were creatures that inherently possessed abilities superior to humans.
Could an ordinary human crush a log barehanded?
An owl bear could shatter wood with the strength of its arms alone.
Their claws were that tough.
Their limbs, that powerful.
Thus, a proper knight would rather overreact than be caught off guard.
The others were no different, nor was Enkrid.
His sharpened senses remained on edge, like a bristling thorn.
The cloying sweetness of that scent still hovered faintly at the tip of his nose.
If he let his focus wane for even a mont, he might lose track of it.
It was like sniffing the last lingering fragrance from a dried flower pressed close to his nose.
The mont he pulled it away, the scent would beco nearly imperceptible.
"These monsters... do they use magic?"
Enkrid asked, keeping his senses sharp.
"What are you talking about? We’re still within our own territory. This isn’t even Imperial land."
That didn’t an their current location was within the territory of Border Guard.
They hadn’t even crossed the Pen-Hanil Mountain Range yet, still northeast of Count Molsan’s domain.
It was an unclaid land, and yet they had been ambushed here.
’There’s no killing intent, but...’
The scent still lingered.
’Where are you?’
How do you find an enemy you can’t see?
Enkrid’s gaze swept over his surroundings.
Utilizing the environnt was a fundantal principle of strategy.
Reaching out, he grabbed a log from the campfire.
It was only half-burned, making it easy to use as a handle.
Fwoosh.
Embers flared along the log.
Whoosh.
The wind carried flickering sparks into the darkness, scattering them into nothingness.
As the firelight wavered, Enkrid’s shadow rippled like waves.
***
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