Chapter 627

Chapter 627

By its very nature, a whip possesses a speed that a sword cannot naturally match. This velocity is derived from centrifugal power, triggered by a precise snap of the wrist. When such a weapon gathers sufficient momentum, it creates a violent, tearing roar in the air—a sound that remains just as terrifying even when the whip is forged on a massive scale.

BOOM! CRACK!

It felt as though a lightning strike had occurred inches away. Lua Gharne was also capable of wielding a whip, but her strikes produced a sound more akin to a sharp pop. This was something else.

A monster.

That was Pell’s silent assessment. Lua Gharne realized that if that heavy iron lash connected, even the most reinforced plate armor would be pulverized. While his companions analyzed and recoiled, Enkrid utilized his accelerated perception to track the metallic blur with his eyes. If he lost sight of it for a second, he was finished. If he failed to anticipate its path, he would lose a limb at the very least.

It was incredibly fast.

There were moments when Rem’s arms seemed to bend with the fluidity of a lash, making his axe strikes feel like a descending bolt of energy, but this weapon was even more formidable. The giant smirked, snapping the iron whip in a wide, sweeping arc, controlling the massive tool with terrifying accuracy.

KWAANG! KUANG! KWAZIIIK! KWAAAA!

Four successive, deafening explosions reverberated through the clearing. Anything caught in the trajectory of that iron cord would have been annihilated. A human frame would have been reduced to scattered debris in an instant.

“To the trees!”

Lua Gharne screamed the command, hoping to use the environment for cover. As she shouted, she felt a warm trickle of blood from her ear. The sheer volume of the whip’s cracks had ruptured her eardrum. Pell suffered the same fate; the sonic booms were more than their physical senses could endure. The two scrambled further back, realizing they were facing a beast that didn’t even allow its enemies to get close.

Enkrid, however, had not retreated an inch throughout the four-strike barrage. After dodging the initial blow, he stood his ground, gripping his weapon firmly. Even his hearing remained perfectly intact. Jaxon had once instructed him that the senses could be hardened against such assaults, a technique Enkrid had mastered through grueling repetition. By focusing his Will to protect his physical form, he had naturally accessed the knightly discipline known as Aguante. A true knight could endure the harshest environments with this art, and thus, his hearing was preserved.

As the whip continued its lethal song, Enkrid calibrated his strategy.

“The enemy’s reach gives him total control.” “At this range, the whip is at its most lethal.” “If I rush him, I’ll be intercepted instantly.”

Should he attempt a feint?

“No. That’s a mistake.”

His gut rejected the notion. Enkrid realized that none of his standard techniques offered a clear solution here. This wasn’t an opponent he could trick with simple mind games. That iron whip served as both the ultimate offense and a perfect defense. Given its speed, the giant could strike twice in the time it took for a standard sword swing.

What if he allowed an arm to be taken just to catch the cord? Could he still find victory after such a gruesome wound? Even a knight would be thrown off by the sudden loss of a limb. The time it would take to adjust his center of gravity would be a window of vulnerability he couldn’t afford.

Enkrid took a long, steady breath.

“If the mind cannot process the speed…”

Then the body would have to act on its own.

Strangely, he was reminded of a lesson from Jaxon:

“What do you do when there is no time to think?”

In those moments, you must feel with your physical self and react. It is possible. You must sharpen your instincts until they surpass thought. Do not let logic slow you down; let your reflexes take the lead.

This philosophy mirrored what Rem had once told him. Though Jaxon never openly admitted to respecting Rem’s chaotic style, he had trained Enkrid in secret during the late hours. When Rem eventually found out, the two masters had nearly come to blows again. Ironically, this was the very lesson Enkrid had been trying to impart to Pell: if you rely solely on your brain during a high-speed duel, you will find no path to victory. Instead, move your body in ways that defy the opponent’s logic.

He held his breath. Enkrid stopped trying to track the whip with his sight and began to sense its vibration in the air. He was fortunate in one regard: thanks to his sparring with Lua Gharne, he was familiar with the mechanics of a whip. By design, a whip moves with extreme velocity, but because it relies on centrifugal force and wrist movement, it possesses a certain inherent rhythm and flow.

The giant remained silent as he unleashed the iron lash again. Raw power surged from his massive shoulders into the weapon, which seemed to explode as it moved.

KWA-AAANG!

The coiled steel monstrosity tore through the air in a sweeping diagonal arc, intended to bisect Enkrid’s torso. Dodging such a wide-reaching strike would be nearly impossible.

CHHHIIING!

Enkrid didn’t move out of the way. He intercepted it. He drew his blade and braced for the impact. He couldn’t stop the force entirely, but he could weather it. Guided by pure instinct, he predicted the path of the iron and deflected it.

CHIIIING! CHING! BOOM!

He performed this feat three more times in rapid succession. A dull ache throbbed in his hand, but fortunately, True Silver was durable enough to withstand the collisions with the iron whip.

“How long do you think you can keep that up?” the giant bellowed.

Enkrid narrowed his gaze. Once more, the whip hissed toward him—a harvesting tool of thunder and steel. Instead of retreating, Enkrid lunged directly forward. It looked like a suicidal leap. A single graze from that weapon would shred flesh; even armor imbued with Will would be crushed.

The giant felt certain of his victory. But in that heartbeat, his intuition failed him. The iron lash whistled inches above Enkrid’s head. The giant assumed it was a fluke, a stroke of impossible luck.

But Enkrid had successfully disrupted the whip’s rhythm. Now within the range of his own blade, he swung. The giant raised the iron-plated guard on his left wrist to intercept.

CLAAAANG!

The air filled with sparks. True Silver bit deep into the gauntlet, shearing off a shard of heavy metal.

“He actually blocked it.”

To the giant, it seemed as though a desperate, lucky strike had been halted. The giant’s frame was twice that of a normal man, and his strides were proportionately massive. He leaped back to reset the distance, immediately bringing his weapon back into play to prevent Enkrid from finding an opening.

“Do you think fortune will smile on you twice?”

If Enkrid continued to parry, his sword would eventually fail, followed by his limbs. The giant planned to systematically break him down until the man lost his will to fight.

But Enkrid dove in again. He dropped his center of gravity, sliding beneath the whip’s lethal arc.

KWAANG!

The wake of the whip’s passage was like a localized hurricane, nearly yanking the hair from Enkrid’s scalp. The wind blew his bangs back, exposing his clear forehead and his intense, sapphire eyes. The giant caught a glimpse of those glowing eyes beneath that calm brow.

It wasn’t luck.

Enkrid had decoded the rhythm of the weapon. There was a fundamental gap in their martial expertise. If the giant hadn’t been using such a specialized long-range weapon, the fight wouldn’t have even been this close.

“You aren’t what the rumors said!” the giant roared. Even at close quarters, his sheer size was daunting.

Enkrid lunged again, aiming for the throat. His blade moved with the grace and speed of a swallow in flight. The giant raised his armored hand again, but Enkrid’s sword path curved mid-air, slicing into the giant’s upper right arm.

SPLASH!

Flesh was torn wide. Compared to the thunderous roar of the whip, the sound of the blade was like a quiet whisper. However, volume does not equate to lethality. A sharp edge can end any life, and even giants fall when struck by a blade carrying the user’s Will.

The thick hide was breached, and blood sprayed outward. It was a calculated strike to a major vessel—Enkrid was targeting the tendons and arteries.

“The more you master the mechanics of the human form, the simpler it becomes to destroy it.”

That was the wisdom of Audin, a lesson Enkrid had practiced every single day. All of it—his combat history, his knowledge, and his drive—culminated in this moment. Those blue eyes were seeing the outcome before it happened. His intuition had fully mapped the whip’s timing.

“You are no ordinary knight,” the giant growled, his voice darkening.

No one embraces death willingly, not even a titan like Hatun. He had been led to believe Enkrid was a lucky upstart who was only dangerous because of his subordinates. That was why he had waited for the man to be isolated. The assassins at the Border Guard had failed, so when word arrived that Enkrid had traveled alone, Hatun had moved in.

“You are beyond the level of a Battle Apostle,” Hatun continued.

But in the time it took to speak those words, Enkrid had already disabled the giant’s knee and wrist. Blood flowed in torrents. That wrist would never swing a whip again. The Church of the Demon Sanctuary possessed elite Battle Apostles, but Hatun now realized Enkrid occupied a tier above them.

“They should have sent the Evil Spirit Apostle…” Hatun muttered. Perhaps he was trying to send a final warning, but Enkrid paid it no mind.

“It’s hard to deliver a message when I don’t have an address.”

With that, Enkrid kicked off the giant’s thigh, propelled himself upward, and struck. True Silver carved a perfect arc through the air, opening the giant’s throat.

THUD!

Hatun’s hand rose in a futile gesture, far too slow to stop the steel. He clutched at the fatal wound and managed one last question: “How… how did you avoid the whip?”

So many questions. It was natural; curiosity often blooms when one faces the end. His eyes were clouded with regret.

“The rhythm was simple.”

“…You monster.”

Simple? To call that complex, lethal dance “simple” was the mark of a madman. But it didn’t matter now. To Hatun, it felt as though he had been fighting one of the Holy Knights of the Grey Divine Army. It wasn’t just a matter of power or Will; it was a matter of sheer, overwhelming skill and experience.

Hatun’s massive corpse collapsed backward, kicking up a cloud of dust as a literal lake of blood began to pool around him. Enkrid stepped away from the growing crimson tide.

“It seems the Church of the Demon Sanctuary dispatched a professional killer,” was his only remark.

“That giant certainly didn’t look like he was here for a chat,” Pell replied dryly.

Enkrid, true to his nature, simply started walking again. “Let’s move.”

“Will they send more?” Pell asked, his concern evident.

“Even the Church of the Demon Sanctuary cannot afford to throw away assets like that in large numbers,” Lua Gharne noted, examining the discarded iron whip. Even an organization powerful enough to threaten the continent’s stability would find it difficult to produce multiple warriors of Hatun’s caliber.

She was correct. With Hatun’s demise, the central continental branch of the cult would likely have to go into hiding.

“Hatun failed?”

The High Priest exhaled slowly at the report. He despised the idea that a single individual—this “Madman”—was disrupting his plans.

“I cannot permit him to remain alive.”

Hatun’s death was a testament to Enkrid’s capability. If they could locate him again…

“He is rarely without his Order.”

They would have to strike during another moment of isolation.

“Gather the remaining operatives in this sector. I will handle this personally,” the High Priest and First Apostle announced. He believed the window of opportunity was still open. “He must return to the Border Guard eventually.”

They only had to guard the path back. However, he was operating under a misconception: he believed Hatun had died after a prolonged, near-equal struggle. No matter how much data they gathered, they couldn’t see the truth of the slaughter. Another cultist had watched the start of the fight from a distance and assumed Hatun held the advantage—a fatal error in judgment. Too many elite warriors had already perished trying to end Enkrid, and the resulting drain on their resources was becoming a catastrophe.

Unaware of the targets being painted on his back, Enkrid continued his journey. On the fourth day, he spent his time instructing Lua Gharne and refining his own mental state as they crossed a river. They passed a noble estate he recognized, but he didn’t linger. He wasn’t focused on the Ferryman’s visions… yet the image of Sinar remained in his mind.

“She didn’t look happy.”

If the Ferryman’s glimpse of the future held any weight.

Following the map Esther had shared with his consciousness, Enkrid navigated a southern river, turned toward the east, and traversed several mountain ranges. They encountered various beasts and outlaws along the way, but Enkrid didn’t find them worth his attention.

“Bandits? Are you people suicidal?” Pell grumbled as he handled the interference. Lua Gharne would often step in to finish the skirmishes quickly.

Finally, they reached their destination. A place Esther had named the Ghost Forest.

A thick, emerald mist clung to the borders of the woods. It looked like a place where spirits would naturally congregate. The forest grew along a desolate mountain pass, showing no evidence of human passage for centuries. Enkrid had just finished dispatching a boar-like creature.

As he took his next two steps forward… his intuition screamed. His hearing, his scent, and the very pressure of the air around him shifted into the realm of heightened combat awareness. He could see the projectile even as it flew.

A single arrow hissed through the air with a sharp shhk