“Shit!”
Olf was horrified to hear that sothing akin to a rebellion had broken out.
In this situation? At this mont?
“Who is it?!”
He then heard that the rebel leader had taken control of the castle gate.
The rebels couldn’t do much about the watchtower or the walls, but the gate was an imdiate problem.
“Guards!”
In his urgency, Olf called for his guards. They ran ahead.
“Go! Stop them!”
‘Who the hell is it?!’
Olf hurried forward, forgetting the weight of his armor. His breath ca up to his throat.
He tasted iron in his mouth, like the sll of dried blood.
He ran to the scene.
“I’m sorry.”
He saw three of his guards turned into pincushions by bolts.
In front of them stood at least a platoon-sized force blocking their way.
They were aiming crossbows at him.
The man who had spoken earlier laughed slyly. It was a truly sly smile.
A twisted mouth, narrowed eyes, a face and expression one wouldn’t normally see.
It was the sa brute of a deputy who used to shout enthusiastically about charging with the cavalry and crushing the enemy.
A simpleton who only knew how to fight. Until just a mont ago, that’s what he had been.
‘That bastard?’
He fought so brutishly that Olf had never thought he’d do sothing like this.
Or had he planned this all along?
Had he been pretending to be a brute who only knew how to fight?
If so, he was a natural actor.
Olf realized he had been deceived.
“The enemy is coming!”
Bwooo!
A large horn blew, signaling danger and threat.
“Shoot! Shoot!”
As the archers on the gallery and the watchtower frantically drew their bows and fired arrows, the brute of a deputy was continuously hacking at the castle gate’s pulley with an axe. ɽÁɴồʙÊ𝘴
Thud! Crack! Thud!
To Olf, those sounds were like a death sentence.
‘Hah.’
It was a sigh-inducing situation, but his mind had gone blank. He couldn’t even shout to stop it. It was already too late.
Even if he rushed in to stop it now, there was no way to prevent the gate from opening.
When that gate opened, those monsters from the battlefield would co in, wouldn’t they?
A nightmare, a terror. The five monsters.
It was as he had feared.
He knew the wizard’s attack had failed.
Otherwise, why hadn’t the ones who were supposed to demand their price shown up?
‘Those damn shadow bastards.’
Olf gave up ntally. Fight to the death here? Stake everything, including his life? Sacrifice the lives of all these soldiers?
“Shit, shit, shit.”
He couldn’t do it. Even if he survived by killing them all, what would be left?
Olf didn’t want to end his life with a foolish act.
Even as a defeated commander, he wouldn’t tarnish his na.
He would die alone and end it.
“You need to surrender.”
Despite his resolve, when the Guard Captain spoke, Olf felt like slapping him.
This bastard?
A trace of anger flashed in Olf’s eyes.
“You need to face reality.”
The Guard Captain repeated. It was obvious he was terrified for his own life.
But this bastard, why does he have so much to say without fighting?
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
The gate was opening. Soon, Olf saw a man with black hair staring into the distance.
He wasn’t even wearing a helt.
His blue eyes looked into the void, not at Olf.
As the man approached.
The Guard Captain quietly laid down his sword.
Preparing to surrender.
This fucking bastard.
Olf killed him in his mind. And he gave up himself.
But
“There is no law that says we must surrender the city without a fight.”
Behind him, Zimr stepped forward.
“What?”
“Allow the honor of the final duel. I will show you the courage of the Lion of the East.”
Zimr’s eyes burned with determination. He called out to Olf once more.
“General.”
Zimr had always been the most skilled swordsman among the Battalion Commanders, including Greg. He had received proper training in swordsmanship.
While the Guard Captain, who usually acted all high and mighty, was busy contemplating whether to put his hands on his head or simply kneel, Zimr, who had always taken on various nial tasks and spoken frankly, stepped forward.
‘I’ve been blind.’
Olf admitted to himself. He had failed in his selection. He had been deceived by the brute of a deputy and had neglected Zimr in favor of the Guard Captain.
He felt like gouging out his own eyes.
“Do it.”
Olf nodded. Even if the battle was over, he didn’t think he had the right to stop soone who wanted to burn with the spirit of a warrior.
And so, Zimr moved to face Encrid.
A spy had been planted in Martai.
‘How long had this been planned?’
As soon as the gate opened, Encrid realized this was soone’s sche—specifically, Marcus’s sche.
‘Was this planned?’
Perhaps it wasn’t a precise plan but rather a prepared contingency. It might not have been intended for this exact mont, but it had been set up just in case.
His thoughts continued. As his thoughts accelerated, they eventually touched upon the Correct Sword Technique.
An unknown, naless swordsmanship learned from the warrior of the cursed sword.
‘The Correct Sword Technique fundantally drives the opponent in one direction.’
The preparation for this was the basics of swordsmanship and its entirety.
If the Middle Sword Technique relies on overpowering with strength and the Quick Sword Technique wins with speed, the Correct Sword Technique creates a pattern to drive the opponent.
And creating this ‘pattern’ required preparation.
A ‘pattern’ was the preparation and thod to drive the opponent.
If the opponent moved according to one’s thoughts, that was good. But if not, what should one do?
‘Prepare broadly and extensively.’
One should assu all kinds of possibilities and move accordingly.
This is why the Correct Sword Technique is adept at tactical battles.
The key is preparation. To diversify and broaden the preparations.
The spy Marcus planted was one such preparation.
There would be more sches hidden by him. Even if the gate hadn’t opened, he wouldn’t have given up. He would have tried so other trick.
The Correct Sword Technique is the sa. It should be used that way.
‘Not confined to one pattern.’
Preparing extensively allows one to respond in various ways according to the opponent’s reaction.
Just as Marcus did.
This is why the Correct Sword Technique and the Fluid Sword Technique are considered among the most powerful as one gains more experience.
The more tactical battles one fights, the more varied patterns beco ingrained in the body.
As the thoughts stemming from Marcus’s magic connected, they led to a certain direction in swordsmanship.
Fighting against the evil spirit of the cursed sword.
Then returning and competing with Ragna.
And learning from Frog Luagarne.
Everything mixed and intertwined.
Encrid took three steps beyond the castle gate. In those three steps, he realized his advantage.
‘Today’s repetition.’
Experiences of fighting with life on the line.
Experiences of fighting while abandoning one’s life.
Endless reflections after nurous defeats and battles.
Weren’t all those patterns and experiences?
Yes. They were patterns and experiences.
‘That old teacher must have specialized in the Correct Sword Technique.’
Realizing that even the coastal village swordsmanship teacher who taught him the importance of reflection specialized in the Correct Sword Technique, Encrid took two more steps, awakening to the diversity of patterns.
Taking those five steps, Encrid felt the need to once again internalize the experiences he had gained so far.
Would he have realized and imdiately executed such things if he were a genius, or at least exceptionally talented?
It would be a lie to say he didn’t wish he had more talent in his life.
However, he no longer yearned for talent as much as he used to.
‘One step at a ti.’
He moves forward. This is the path to ‘Will’ and the path to becoming a Knight.
A forgotten dream struck his heart once more.
Only then did Encrid beco aware of his surroundings.
The gate had opened, and one of the main figures of the battlefield had entered.
Even if arrows flew, they would need to fly a hundred more tis, and if not that, it should be the mont when he saw spears or hamrs before him, but it was quiet.
“Ah.”
A short exclamation from soone, and Encrid lowered his shield. It was a wooden shield with arrows embedded in it. He put it down beside him and looked around, taking in the situation at a glance.
‘There is no will to fight.’
Only soldiers who had lost the will to fight were in front of him.
These were the ones who had been beaten back on the battlefield and had entered the defensive battle.
Their last bastion was the gate and the wall.
Just after seeing the enemy recklessly attach themselves to the wall.
“Is it going to break?”
“Shit, is our gate made of mud or sothing?”
Uneasy words flew back and forth, and an atmosphere of unrest spread among the soldiers.
Even knowing this, they couldn’t do anything about it.
The gate opened, and the five demons of the battlefield stepped inside.
“Dammit.”
Is running towards death courage or foolishness?
The soldiers of Martai did not need to know the difference between courage and foolishness. They did not confirm it.
They simply stopped.
The gaze of those who had given up fighting landed on Encrid.
Silence. The wind blew. The wind brushed past the flags planted over the city.
Fluttering.
Along with the sound of flapping flags, a few soldiers’ curses mixed in.
Curses filled with resignation and self-mockery.
Encrid, who saw and felt all this, opened his mouth.
“Do I need to say my na here again?”
My na is Encrid.
Initially, it was arrogant, laughable, and sounded insane, but the weight of that one phrase settled over the city of Martai.
Nevertheless.
Even if everyone gave up, there were always those who made a last stand.
Amid the heavy silence and the frozen soldiers, a dry-frad man stepped forward, passing through soldiers with their fingers on bowstrings, hesitating.
Encrid noticed that although the man’s fra wasn’t large, his muscles were firm.
His balanced steps caught Encrid’s eye, and it was impressive that there was no fear in his gaze.
“My na is Zimr.”
The man who stepped forward spoke.
Encrid didn’t know who his opponent was.
He had never moved with such considerations in mind.
“I am the 2nd Battalion Commander of Martai.”
As his opponent politely introduced himself, Encrid also opened his mouth.
“Captain of the Independent Company, Border Guard Reserve Unit.”
“I see.”
Encrid looked into Zimr’s eyes. They weren’t the eyes of soone who had given up. At least, he was soone trying to do sothing.
“Well, this is awkward.”
Rem, who had followed, grumbled, and Audin added with a smile.
“A duel is sacred. Brothers, I shall convey the Lord’s will in his stead.”
It was sothing a priest might say, but no one took issue with it.
Simply.
“I can’t retreat without swinging my sword at least once.”
Zimr expressed his intention.
Behind him was General Olf, but he already seed half out of his mind.
He was a man back from the brink of anger and reason. Of course, Encrid didn’t care.
Only Krais was looking around the area.
A finished fight, but for soone, it was a fight that couldn’t just end in surrender.
‘Why do they risk their lives?’
Krais couldn’t understand it.
The others seed to accept the situation.
Ragna stepped back to the right. If any enemy archers or anyone else intervened, he would draw his sword without hesitation.
Usually, his presence wouldn’t be so apparent, but now his aura was clearly visible, making Ragna appear several tis larger to the enemy soldiers.
And indeed, there was a warrior as large as him.
“If you interfere, your head will be smashed, and you will go to heaven. Brothers and sisters.”
Audin volunteered to referee, and Rem also stepped back.
Rem admired the spirit of his opponent. To challenge him to a duel in such a situation was indeed brave.
Zimr, that was his na. He would have been called a hero even among his own people.
Jaxon had already hidden, likely thinking of cutting the commanders’ throats if things went south.
Encrid was also impressed by Zimr’s determination.
This was a duel where even if the other side won, the chance of dying was high.
Yet, he didn’t back down.
He was a warrior. A man who knew how to fight.
Chirring.
Encrid drew his sword. It had once been a cursed sword, but now it was just an exceptionally sharp and sturdy blade.
“My sword is not ordinary.”
Encrid ntioned the advantage of his weapon.
He respected the courage shown by his opponent.
Zimr nodded.
Soon, he too drew his sword.
Tiring.
It was a short and straight sword. An Estoc.
Encrid guessed his opponent’s specialty as soon as he saw his stance. No, it was almost a certainty.
‘A quick sword, light on his feet.’
Light feet ant swift movents.
Zimr lowered his stance. The mont he pointed his sword forward, his feet struck the ground.
The tip of the sword blurred like an afterimage, aiming at Encrid as if to strike.
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