Chapter 658 - Sermon
What Enkrid displayed was akin to an absolute defense.
He had constructed a perfect barrier using his reaction speed, swordsmanship, and an overarching perspective that seemed to encompass everything.
His thought process was particularly remarkable.
He didn't just see points—he saw lines, and beyond that, surfaces.
Rather than focusing on a single tree, he took in the entire forest, capturing his opponent's full body in his gaze and reacting accordingly.
Yet even with such broad perception, his instantaneous decision-making did not fall behind in the slightest.
If this were an actual battle where they exchanged real strikes, the outcome might differ.
But that wasn't something he could know at this moment.
'He's blended everything together so well.'
That was how it looked to Rem.
Seeing Enkrid properly executing what he had taught him gave him a sense of pride.
Making the most appropriate decision in the shortest time was one of his specialties.
But that didn't mean he had any reason to lose.
To determine victory in actual combat, one of them would have to die or sustain serious injuries.
Winning in such a way was meaningless.
'Then I guess that means I lost.'
Victory needed to be achieved within the format of a duel.
Rem delved into thought.
He pondered, analyzed, and sought a solution.
'Ulke always had it in him.'
He already knew that Enkrid possessed an overwhelming amount of Will.
Now, he had returned with vastly improved skills.
That was why he was acting so brazenly.
'Why is it that every time he goes somewhere, he comes back changed like this?'
Had he hidden some secret training grounds somewhere on the continent?
Of course, Rem knew that wasn't the case.
He had traveled to the West with him and found no such thing.
'Training every day, spending each moment the same way.'
Endless training to the point of tedium—that was all Enkrid had done.
Rem had done the same, though recently, he had been pushing himself even harder.
Even when he had enjoyed physical exertion back in the West, he had never trained this obsessively.
But once he had a goal, motivation naturally followed.
'I don't want to lose.'
More than the pride he felt, a fire of competitiveness burned within him.
He had no desire to kill, only an overwhelming urge to win.
'Victory above all else.'
And so, he spent fifteen days eating, sleeping, and fighting, searching for a solution.
'Whether I win with an axe or with this, it's all the same.'
He trained his mobility by practicing backward leaps—a method he refined while sparring with Ragna.
If he had to name it, he would call it partial invocation, but names weren't important.
All that mattered was using what he needed at the moment he needed it.
Rem did just that.
He widened the distance and fired a series of high-speed projectiles.
This didn't consume a great deal of sorcery.
While each bullet contained a bit of magic power, it wasn't an excessive amount.
There was no need to burn himself out in combat.
This way, he could execute a strategy similar to what Enkrid did with his overwhelming will.
The difference was that instead of defense, Rem's approach was pure offense.
The projectiles rained down like relentless waves.
As long as the waves continued, Enkrid had no choice but to defend against them.
This alone restricted his movements.
Whiiing! Bang! Whiiiing! Bang!
Two slings, each operating on a different rhythm, launched bullets along separate trajectories, slicing through the air.
And yet, Enkrid blocked them all.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Each time he deflected an attack, explosions erupted.
Smoke billowed, and deflected bullets crashed into the lodging at the edge of the training ground, shattering it.
Even those stray bullets could easily crush the skull of an ordinary warrior.
Fortunately, there was no one around who would die from such an attack.
Well, except for one person.
Anne, the healer and alchemist, had just arrived to collect some Drius leaves.
The red-haired, freckled girl had just stepped inside when a bullet shot toward her chest.
She was about to be killed—until someone blocked the bullet in front of her.
Clang!
Ragna had driven his greatsword into the ground, twisting it to deflect the bullet off its surface.
The projectile had already lost half its power upon deflection, making the sound quieter than when Enkrid had blocked it.
In that brief moment, Ragna had closed the distance in an instant, his massive back now filling Anne's vision.
"This is a bad time," Ragna said flatly.
Anne, quickly grasping the situation, replied,
"…So it seems."
Her eyes widened in shock.
Aside from Anne, only Luagarne, Theresa, Ropord, and Fel were around.
All of them had either dodged or blocked the projectiles with ease.
Only the poor lodging and the various structures in the training ground were being reduced to rubble.
A tall wall had blocked three bullets before finally crumbling with a deep rumble.
Dust and debris rose into the air.
Through the dust stirred up by the deflected bullets, Enkrid's blue eyes glowed intensely.
He was compressing his Will, his gaze fixed on his target.
The moment Rem showed any opening, he would close the distance.
Enkrid's method of winning was simple:
Turn this mid-to-long-range battle into a close-quarters fight, where swords and axes clashed.
That would neutralize the slings.
Of course, Rem had dozens of ways to detonate or fire projectiles at a close-range enemy as well.
But to use them, he would have to be prepared to kill.
There was a reason knights were forbidden from dueling each other.
Fighting awakened one's Will, and if the skill gap wasn't absolute, ending the battle without killing was difficult.
Even with a significant gap, inflicting severe injury was common.
Rem's gray eyes emitted a faint glow.
Sorcery coursed through his entire body, and a part of that power seemed to settle into the high-speed projectile he held.
The damn fool had annoyed him to the point that he was ready to half-kill him if necessary.
There was no need to name the technique.
But when forging a new path, sometimes a name was necessary.
By concentrating his invocation into his hands and arms, he could unleash giant-like strength with just the flick of his wrist.
That didn't need a name—it was simply an extension of an existing technique.
But what he was doing now was something different.
'Stay.'
Magic condensed into the bullet he was about to throw.
Within it, he wove a new spell.
This wasn't a talisman, nor could it quite be called an invocation.
In the past, Akerlan knights had the ability to imbue their weapons with their Will.
Rem did the same—but through sorcery.
And instead of embedding it into a weapon in his hands, he left it in the projectile that had already been thrown.
'Linger.'
Remain.
Do not dissipate.
'Detonate upon impact.'
It was a projectile infused with a spell for explosion.
Enkrid saw the beast fiercely charging toward him within the realm of his sixth sense.
If the projectiles he had deflected so far had been like hail, what was flying at him now was something imbued with intent.
It was as if a living beast had been compressed into a mass and thrown at him.
Enkrid did not ignore his instincts.
In an instant, he lowered his stance and shifted his center of gravity—not into a position for advancing, but one for deflecting.
Letting the force flow from below and behind, he tilted the Penna in his right hand diagonally and struck upward.
The round mass that resembled a boulder clashed with Penna.
The battles so far had already been enough to understand why a knight's violence was called a catastrophe, but this went beyond even that.
A brilliant flash erupted, followed by a deafening explosion.
Kwaaaang!
The shockwave roared violently.
Ragna, looking annoyed, grabbed Anne's shoulder and pulled her behind him while slashing downward three times with the greatsword in his other hand.
Whoom, whoom, whoom.
With just three swings, the shockwave was sliced apart.
Even a knight would consider it an incredible feat, but no one was particularly surprised.
After all, who had time to admire such things when there was a chance that barbarian lunatic Rem had lost his mind and killed his own captain?
"Are you seriously insane?"
Jaxen's voice cut through the air.
Rem felt the presence of a stray cat approaching behind him but let it be.
There was a murderous intent, but it was the kind that flared up whenever tempers ran hot.
Ragna remained silent, his gaze fixed on the heart of the explosion.
"O Lord, has the time come for me to deliver our savage brother to stand by Your side?"
Audin murmured a quiet prayer.
"Is he dead?"
Ropord muttered in surprise, but Fel shook his head.
They had wandered the city of fairies and the labyrinth together, witnessed him slaying demons, and seen him cut down cultists on the way back.
That mad captain would not die so easily.
"This is supposed to be a sparring match?"
Enkrid's indifferent voice rang out.
His right arm dangled limply—either broken or its muscles too damaged to function.
At some point, he had shifted Penna to his left hand.
At least the Penna was intact.
That was a relief, perhaps.
The fairy's treasure emitted a faint glow in defiance of the explosion's magic.
Rem grinned at him and asked, "Got a problem with that?"
Of course, Enkrid was the same as always.
Whether it was when he became a knight or when he had briefly gained the upper hand against them recently, Enkrid had never changed.
"One more round?"
The mad captain smiled widely—an expression that only someone completely intoxicated with joy could make.
"You're all crazy. Seriously."
Anne muttered, but for Enkrid, this was only natural.
It was exhilarating.
What would have happened if he had failed to deflect that last projectile?
Would he have lost an arm?
But he had blocked it.
Rem had thrown that attack, confident Enkrid could handle it.
And Enkrid had lived up to that expectation.
'This is thrilling.'
The electric sensation ran from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.
The more he replayed the moment in his mind, the more he relished it.
'What if I had altered the deflection angle? But that projectile wasn't just a mere stone, was it? That means there wouldn't be many of them. Dodging something flying that fast is difficult. If I barely evade it, I'll be caught by the next attack. Rem is the kind of guy who would fire that kind of attack twice in a row. So I have to block each one and endure. How?'
The answer wasn't clear yet.
But he had seen something layered over Rem's projectile.
Something new.
Someone who had reached a place he hadn't yet attained had brought that to him.
How could he not be excited?
Would Krais feel this much joy if he stumbled upon a mountain of gold coins?
Enkrid believed he was even happier than Krais would be in that scenario.
This wasn't a battle to the death.
It was a spar.
He had time to reflect and train.
Honestly, he couldn't find an answer right away.
But inspiration would come again. He had learned to wait for it.
Of course, he would do everything he could in the meantime.
"Tonight, the stars will be clear, brothers."
Audin looked at them and spoke.
Enkrid automatically stopped replaying the fight in his mind.
Following Audin's gaze, he observed the aftermath of his match with Rem.
Rumble, crash.
One side of their lodging collapsed, the walls turning into a pile of rubble.
It had been Audin's room.
Half the lodging was now in ruins, and Audin's room had become an open-air space—a perfect spot for stargazing.
"You're right. That room is now prime real estate."
Enkrid responded.
Audin merely smiled and murmured, "O Lord."
The two words carried a blend of emotions.
Enkrid started to raise his right arm but gave up and muttered, "Yeah, this arm won't work. I'll have to rest a bit."
His arm wasn't responding.
That was the price of blocking a reckless attack with an equally reckless move.
"You're just saying that? If you really want to die, I can hit you one more time."
Looking closely, Enkrid wasn't the only one injured.
Rem's two fingers were broken.
He had handled an overwhelming magical force with his bare hands.
It was, in some ways, an inevitable outcome.
The technique wasn't yet perfected.
But did a technique always have to be perfect?
Not necessarily.
Rem knew that, which was why he had simply used it.
By using it, he would grow accustomed to it and figure out how to refine it.
'Either way, I still need more training.'
Though Rem thought this inwardly, he showed no sign of it outwardly.
He gathered his sling, straightened the handle of his axe, and then, with a suddenly solemn expression, spoke in a voice loud enough for all to hear.
"In the West, there is a saying—'Urquiola.' In our language, it means 'Duskhorizon.' It represents the dawn before sunrise.
We are all just at dawn.
So if we push a little harder, that will be enough.
Do not despair.
It's fine.
Just work hard.
Puuuuuush through.
So what if you can't beat Enki?
That just means that's your limit.
The Duskhorizon.
The dawn.
Well… sometimes, there are dawns that never break.
But it's fine because I'm here."
It was a sermon.
And Rem was brimming with excitement—his eyes shining even brighter than when he was fighting.
His gray pupils exuded an energy they had never seen before.
He was overflowing with life.
Naturally, the expressions of those listening to him were shifting in the opposite direction.
***
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