Chapter 693 - Outstanding
The next day arrived.
Enkrid deliberately woke up late and slowly stretched his body with care.
The fatigue in his body had almost completely faded.
The bruises he had received from Ragna had likely disappeared as well.
He didn’t need a mirror to know that.
A knight’s trained body far surpassed an ordinary person’s ability to recover.
"Legend."
It was a title that always preceded Yohan’s na.
A na that only those who had reached a certain level could hear, sothing not even the ballads of wandering minstrels dared to sing of.
Those known as Yohan were the ones who embodied the very essence of legend.
"And among them, the head of the family."
A thrilling sensation shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, making his fine hairs stand on end.
"How exciting."
His anticipation soared.
"The weather is nice."
Enkrid spoke while looking at the sky.
Next to him, Anne, who had just rubbed the sleep from her eyes, glanced up and asked,
"The weather is nice?"
The sky was covered with dark clouds.
What exactly was his standard for good weather?
"Yeah, very."
Enkrid replied.
Right behind Anne, Ragna added,
"He won’t hear anything. He gets like this sotis."
Anne had never seen this side of him before.
But she wasn’t particularly surprised.
She just thought, Ah, this is why they call him a madman.
"Looks like I’ll have a busy day too."
Anne had co here to find the root of the illness, not to idly visit Ragna’s family estate.
Before long, a squire arrived with a sword at his hip, announcing the head of the family’s summons.
It was still just after dawn—a very early hour—but Enkrid had been ready for so ti.
And so, he followed the summons.
At the center of the spacious training grounds, the head of the family and his spouse awaited him.
Was there any need for aningless pleasantries like Did you sleep well?
The mont Enkrid took a step forward from about ten paces away, he imdiately knew who would make the first move in their duel.
"The head of the family."
The man who represented Yohan, Ragna’s father.
This pressure was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
It wasn’t rely a weight pressing down on his entire body—it had shape.
A massive sword stood before him.
It was an illusion, yet not an illusion.
Because the presence before him felt real and alive.
"It feels like it truly exists."
This—this was presence.
The pressure, which should have been intangible, took the form of a greatsword, its size dwarfing a human body.
The blade was at least three tis larger than the head of the family himself.
But strangely, it wasn’t filled with killing intent.
Why?
The answer ca imdiately.
His instincts, sharpened by experience, provided clarity.
"This pressure isn’t directed at ."
It was rely a sign that the battle had begun.
Perhaps the bare minimum requirent to fight the head of the family was to withstand the force he exuded.
Enkrid was almost certain—and he was right.
Ragna, too, observed the familiar manifestation of his father’s pressure.
"It’s even bigger."
Beyond wielding a sword, he crushed his opponents before the fight even began.
It was his father’s specialty.
Before the massive presence, Enkrid looked as frail as a reed swaying in the wind, a twig ready to snap at any mont.
The difference in sheer montum was overwhelming.
Before even clashing swords, the enemy grew larger in one’s mind, and eventually, that looming presence crushed the opponent’s will.
The sheer weight of the massive sword’s presence created a suffocating sense of oppression—enough to shake even a hardened warrior’s heart.
And yet, in that mont, Enkrid’s energy changed completely.
Ragna, standing behind him, couldn’t see his face.
But he didn’t need to.
"He’s smiling."
That was just the kind of person he was.
And indeed, he was.
Enkrid felt a shuddering thrill of joy and excitent ripple through his body.
This montum was unlike anything he had ever encountered.
And that made it all the more exhilarating.
For a fleeting mont, a face ca to mind—the King of the East, Anu.
Perhaps Anu was on a similar level.
"When I was at Border Guard, he was just playing with ."
Back then, Enkrid had failed to draw out the true power of the rcenary King.
But now?
His lips twisted into a grin, revealing sharp canines.
Across from him, Alexandra’s right eyebrow twitched slightly.
"He’s smiling?"
Her expression seed to ask that very question.
Of course, Enkrid didn’t notice.
His eyes were locked solely on the head of the family.
***
In the midst of training, Teresa suddenly spoke.
"Brother Audin, Sister Shinar."
The two, who had been assisting her, turned their heads at the sa ti.
Shinar retrieved the daggers floating around her with aura, while Audin removed the shattered steel gauntlet from his hand.
"What’s the most troubleso thing about fighting Commander Enkrid?"
It wasn’t a deeply thought-out question.
Just sothing that ca to mind.
A topic well-suited for a short break.
Audin and Shinar answered in unison.
"Stubbornness."
"Rejection."
Their words were different, but their aning was the sa.
Stubbornness was Shinar’s answer.
Rejection was Audin’s.
Audin elaborated.
"He accepts anything when it cos to learning, but the mont a fight begins, no form of pressure works against him. You’ve heard of the ’Will of Rejection,’ right? I think that’s his core. No matter what anyone says, he pushes forward, rejecting everything in his way."
Shinar added,
"There are tis he should stop—but he doesn’t. That stubbornness makes him unpredictable."
Without Enkrid, Shinar’s jokes beca noticeably less frequent.
If he had been here now...
"A stubbornness, arrogance, and obstinacy that wouldn’t easily crumble before a Fairy of my level."
That must have been the intended remark.
The words they spoke were different, but the core aning was the sa.
"I feel the sa way. That ans it’s my turn to show the temperant I learned from the commander."
Theresa nodded before staggering to her feet.
One of her legs was broken, but that didn’t an she was going to give up.
Enkrid had provoked everyone, and thanks to that, everyone except Ragna had stayed behind in Border Guard.
Because they wanted to digest that provocation.
"Now, let’s go."
Theresa shouted.
She sought to surpass her limits and was already in the process of doing so.
***
He laughs?
Alexandra knew the aura her husband exuded.
Just witnessing soone withstand that overwhelming presence told her much about their character.
The most pitiful ones were those who had already concluded they could never win before the fight even began.
Such people could never be pioneers.
’No, forget being pioneers—they’d struggle even to rise to the rank of knight.’
In Yohann, knights were classified into three types.
Pioneers, Researchers, and Observers.
Pioneers were also called Seekers, Researchers were known as Technicians, and Observers were referred to as Guardians.
It was also a reflection of Yohan’s philosophy on swordsmanship, a part of their established system.
’Anyway.’
If one assud they would lose from the start, the best they could beco was a Researcher.
The second most pitiful were those who refused to acknowledge their own weakness.
’Arrogance.’
They knew they would lose but refused to accept it.
They lacked the ability to objectively assess themselves.
So among them might, by virtue of talent, manage to beco Pioneers, but in all her experience, Alexandra had never seen such people beco outstanding ones.
’And they won’t beco Researchers either.’
To analyze, break down, and refine techniques, one had to be capable of self-reflection.
The third type was those who acknowledged their own weakness.
They were the ones who moved forward.
They recognized their shortcomings and sought what they could do in the mont.
Her husband hated them, but Alexandra considered such people to be quite exceptional.
Even if they expected to lose, they wouldn’t just fight aimlessly.
They would do whatever it took.
They struggled to improve their chances of winning.
’They have the potential to be great Researchers and Observers.’
And lastly, there was the kind of person her husband liked the most.
’They relish the pressure itself.’
Beyond enjoying swordsmanship, they took pleasure in being pressured.
To enjoy it ant to beco intoxicated by battle.
That was the quality of a Pioneer.
A true forerunner.
And among those who enjoyed it, Alexandra had never seen anyone quite like this one.
A full-faced smile.
Just looking at him, it was clear how much he was reveling in it.
Enkrid had rushed forward, his face contorted in pure joy, as if he could die happy in that mont.
He pierced through the oppressive force and planted his feet firmly.
Even if a teor fell or a mountain collapsed before him, he would charge ahead, sword in hand.
’A temperant displayed through his entire being.’
Her husband, Tempest, drew his sword.
Alexandra didn’t take her eyes off the scene.
Though this wasn’t a fight to the death, their presence surged as if they were holding back just one step from actual combat.
Boom!
Her husband’s greatsword fell vertically.
It was a slash nicknad "the sword that crushes mountains."
That was how heavy it was.
It appeared slow, but before the blade even swung down, the formless force of Will had already moved to seize his opponent’s entire body.
As expected, Enkrid felt the pressure gripping his limbs and torso—and he imdiately rejected it.
’This is interesting.’
Odincar was also excellent, but he wasn’t on the level of the family head.
Still as a mountain when motionless, a raging storm when in motion—that presence ignited the Will that coursed through his entire body.
Enkrid thrust forward with Samcheol.
Was he trying to block that massive blade head-on?
That’s how it looked.
But the dark-golden edge of Samcheol twisted subtly, redirecting the force within the family head’s sword to the side.
Boom!
Even so, the collision between the two created a shockwave.
Ragna stepped in front of Anne, while Alexandra simply crossed her arms and watched.
"What is this?"
Anne couldn’t even see what was happening.
"We need to step back," Ragna said, shielding her.
If they remained where they were, a stray rock could split their foreheads open.
Whoosh.
The mont the swords clashed, Enkrid released his grip on Samcheol and rushed in.
It was madness—an utterly unpredictable move.
A variation of Valen-style rcenary swordsmanship, the result of precise, instantaneous calculations.
His first move was reckless beyond belief.
Enkrid clenched his fist and swung it straight at the family head’s face.
If the punch connected with his jaw, knight or not, he would lose balance and montarily black out.
The family head tucked his chin and intercepted the punch with his forehead.
Boom!
The second explosion rang out at the sa ti.
The family head struck Enkrid in the face with his fist, still gripping his sword.
Enkrid quickly ducked to evade the punch, crossing his arms in front of his chest to block.
Wave-Blocking Sword—techniques that blocked all incoming attacks.
A decision made through high-speed thought processing.
Thud!
Before he realized it, the family head’s knee struck the center of his crossed arms.
Enkrid deliberately made his body lighter and let himself be pushed back.
At the sa ti, he stretched out his left hand and grabbed Samcheol once more.
The sword, embedded in the ground, naturally ca free, rising as if it had been waiting for him.
The family head, seeing that, used the recoil from withdrawing his knee to thrust his greatsword forward.
’He’s skillful.’
Both in battle and in duels—he excelled at both.
Enkrid felt a faint numbness in his right hand from the knee strike earlier.
He had struck precisely along the grain of the muscle.
By blocking Enkrid’s punch with his forehead and then targeting his hand with his knee, he had montarily deprived him of control over his right arm.
Beyond swordplay, he was a born fighter.
Enkrid was ambidextrous, so wielding his sword with his left hand did not reduce his power.
On the contrary, he demonstrated the ability to switch the positions of his hands, using his montarily numb right hand as support.
Now, the technique had beco second nature to him—this was the Valen-style rcenary sword technique for switching hands.
Keeping his left hand on top, he supported the grip from below with his right and attempted to break the incoming thrusting blade.
’Aetri.’
The sword he had forged himself.
It wouldn’t break so easily.
Yet the head of the house did not stop his thrust.
Clang!
The tip of samcheol curved through the air, striking the middle of the incoming blade.
The point of the head’s sword shifted as its target was thrown off.
It was Enkrid’s raw strength that had forced it astray.
His Will surged.
The exhilaration and fervor rising within him burned like an erupting volcano.
"Hah!"
With a sharp battle cry, Enkrid planted his weight on his right foot, twisted his waist, and extended his left leg.
His kick struck the flat of the head’s blade.
Boom!
First, he altered the sword’s trajectory with his own blade, then disrupted the attack completely with a kick.
In response, the head of the house released his sword and clenched his fist, swinging it toward Enkrid.
His indifferent amber eyes glead, leaving afterimages like the tail of a teor as he closed the distance in an instant.
’Did I subconsciously assu that because he wielded a heavy sword, his attacks would be slow?’
Yes.
His sword was not particularly fast.
But his feet—his feet were exceptionally fast.
Calculations rged with the assessnts, yielding an answer.
A conclusion drawn from rapid, high-speed thought.
’I can’t dodge this.’
Enkrid clenched his teeth, grinning as he let go of Samcheol.
Instead, he raised three fingers on his left hand, aiming for the man’s eyes.
There was no hesitation.
His movents flowed naturally, seamlessly.
If evasion was impossible, then he would counter with an attack of his own—such was the doctrine of the Wavebreaker style.
The head of the house closed his eyes and delivered a punch to Enkrid’s stomach.
Boom!
With a resounding impact, Enkrid experienced a long-forgotten sensation—weightlessness.
He was sent flying, his body lifted into the air.
At the end of that floating sensation, he thumped against the ground, landing on his back.
He imdiately flipped onto his feet like a cat, but the fact remained—he had been struck.
Had the head of the house imdiately pursued him with his greatsword, Enkrid might have suffered a fatal wound.
But instead, the man stood still, blood trailing from the corner of his eye.
The blow had not damaged his eyeball.
Enkrid’s fingers had only torn the skin around his eye.
Despite the numbing ache in his back, Enkrid had already drawn his dagger.
Though seated, he was poised—ready to throw the dagger or spring into action at any mont.
"Impressive."
The head of the house spoke.
The duel was over.
A quiet huff of breath sounded from soone in the watching crowd before the head continued.
"Desperation in the mont is always a step too late."
He added a few more words.
"Only prior effort can answer present desperation. That is why you are impressive."
He was not a man who spoke much, neither during nor after a match.
Enkrid himself might not have realized it, but those who had gathered to watch knew well—
The head of the house was thrilled.
Normally, after a duel, he would barely speak a word.
And yet, here he was, beginning his remarks with praise.
It was shocking.
"A rare guest," muttered a middle-aged man with deep golden hair.
"He doesn’t seem particularly talented," remarked another—this one with light brown hair, six swords strapped across his back, waist, and thighs.
Amid the murmurs of the astonished onlookers, Enkrid spoke.
"One more round?"
It was exactly the kind of thing he would say.
But this ti, there was sothing different in his expression.
His grin remained, yet within it, a new emotion flickered.
It was as if he were staking everything on those words.
His Will spilled out like perfu overturned—uncontainable.
Even those who could not wield Will could feel it.
A raw, unmistakable emotion.
Desperation.
***
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