Chapter 655

Chapter 655

“Were you not supposed to encounter a spirit?” Jaxon questioned.

As was his habit when taken aback, his speech became blunt and informal. Even from his high vantage point on the roof, his words cut through the air with precision. There was a particular intensity to his voice—reminiscent of a frozen flame. It was biting, yet radiating heat. Provocative. His gaze was fierce, though his tone remained hushed and piercing.

“A monster appeared in its place,” Enkrid replied.

Despite Jaxon’s intensity, Enkrid’s voice remained steady and flat, perhaps carrying a hint of confusion.

“And?” Jaxon demanded.

“…I used every bit of my strength to slay it.”

In normal circumstances, Enkrid would have provided a more nuanced explanation. Lately, he had developed the ability to articulate his thoughts clearly; he was no longer forced to speak like a man lost to madness. He had organized his mind into a system. However, that refined way of speaking felt out of place when facing warriors whose auras were as jagged as a blade’s edge. Consequently, he slipped back into the old, blunt habits he once used with Ermen.

None of those present seemed inclined to take offense.

“That sounds accurate,” Ragna remarked, rising to his feet.

Stepping forward, Ragna unsheathed his weapon. A sound, as sharp and chilling as cracking ice, echoed through the air. He discarded the sheath with his left hand, securing a two-handed grip on the hilt.

“Step aside, you brooding whelp. My turn has come.”

During Enkrid’s absence, Ragna had clearly obtained a superior blade. The metal radiated a faint azure glow, mirroring the shade of a clear sky. It was a masterpiece forged from Valerian steel, Noir iron, and refined silver. It was a heavy, substantial weapon that suited his combat philosophy perfectly. People called him a prodigy, a blessing from the heavens, and now the internal fire in his eyes was unrestrained. He made no effort to mask his eagerness.

As Enkrid looked at him, Ragna issued a warning.

“If your defense fails here, you will perish.”

Ragna’s training had been brutal; in his world, the loss of a limb was simply the price of practice. He spoke with total gravity, yet a faint smile touched his lips—a cocktail of hunger, delight, and the reckless thrill unique to the young. Enkrid could decipher his feelings just by observing his frame and expression. He had always been perceptive, but his time among the emotionally disciplined spirits had honed this intuition into a razor-sharp edge.

Seeing Ragna’s undisguised excitement, Enkrid asked a genuine question.

“I assume you won’t be holding anything back either?”

Ragna gave his answer through steel.

Without a single wasted movement or telegraph, he unleashed a sudden, piercing thrust that seemed to cleave the very atmosphere.

Clang!

Enkrid positioned Penna vertically, catching the strike on the flat of his blade before leaping to the side.

Boom!

The air groaned as Ragna’s follow-up strike—a pre-planned arc—sliced through the space Enkrid had occupied moments before. The initial lunge had transitioned seamlessly into a devastating cut. Every move was heavy with intent, yet Enkrid appeared to evade them with a natural, almost effortless grace.

He was anticipating and reacting simultaneously. If he misjudged a movement, he adjusted his calculations in a heartbeat. If finesse failed, he met strength with strength. Even when forced into a hard block, he made the outcome look like a planned part of the flow. He was revising his strategy in real-time. It was as if he was processing every possible variable while remaining perfectly anchored in the center of the storm.

Was such a feat truly possible? Generally, if one looks at the sky, they lose sight of the ground. Enkrid, however, seemed to see both at once. He made accidental openings look like deliberate traps. He fought with a total, bird’s-eye comprehension of the engagement.

To any observer, this should have been impossible. But with the evidence right before them, there was no room for denial. Rem realized the conclusion before the duel had even peaked.

Before Enkrid’s return, a ten-bout sparring session between Rem and Ragna would likely have ended in ten draws. They were too evenly matched to determine a superior. If Rem had been suppressed, Ragna would surely face the same fate. The Wavebreaker Sword technique was an absolute wall; it didn’t permit a counter-attack. It neutralized everything. Even a warrior of Ragna’s caliber wouldn’t be able to shatter it. The fight would inevitably become a test of raw stamina.

Inflexible.

And once that stalemate was reached, Enkrid’s bottomless resolve would consume anyone foolish enough to persist. When Rem had faced Enkrid, it felt like being pulled into a mire—sinking slowly, inch by painful inch. That was Enkrid’s tactical signature: seizing the opponent by the heel and dragging them down until the entire field of battle bent to his will.

Rem had witnessed it. Now, Ragna felt it.

I am going to be defeated.

Ragna’s innate genius skipped the process and jumped straight to the inevitable result. The moment that realization struck, he shifted his weight. He had demonstrated this particular move to Rem once before—a technique that defied counter-measures. He coiled every muscle, channeling the entirety of his Will into a singular overhead strike.

On the surface, it appeared to be a basic, fundamental greatsword cleave. For the person facing it, however, it was something else entirely. It felt like a bolt of divine lightning cast from the heavens. It was a move modeled after the way Enkrid saturated his strikes with Will, but it had been reforged into Ragna’s personal style.

To Ragna, it was the ultimate strike.

He widened his base and brought his arms high, all in the space of a heartbeat. The lack of preparation time made it nearly impossible to intercept. In a duel where a single breath separates life from death, even a veteran can usually only see one step ahead. Knights referred to this battle intuition as “foresight.” Yet, even with that gift, this specific moment was unpredictable. Even if one saw it coming, the realization arrived too late. To dodge was futile; the blade would simply track the movement.

Ragna’s footwork was hauntingly swift, even surpassing Rem, who was famous for his agility across the western territories. Backing away wouldn’t save him. When Rem had encountered this, he had been forced to charge inward at the last second to try and dampen the impact. It had been a suicidal gamble that nearly killed them both, leading them to stop sparring altogether.

Now, Ragna was unleashing that same lethal strike upon Enkrid. It was a scenario where any witness would conclude there was no escape.

“…Damn it,” Audin whispered.

Just as Ragna reached the peak of his momentum, Enkrid took a long, calculated step backward. It was impossible to tell if Ragna had completed his wind-up first or if Enkrid had begun his retreat first; the two actions were nearly intertwined. Ragna still had the momentum to pursue and finish the swing—a feat he had mastered through Oara’s Continuous Sword style.

However, the devastating power would be compromised. Enkrid had moved exactly far enough to strip the blow of its lethality. It was a masterful tactical withdrawal. He had analyzed the shape of the fight before it even formed. It bore a resemblance to Acker’s Spiderweb Swordsmanship, yet it felt far more polished. While Acker’s style sought to ensnare and bind, Enkrid’s approach seemed to render the opponent’s efforts completely void.

Was he simply processing information faster? No. He was running two parallel lines of thought simultaneously. Rem saw it. Jaxon saw it. And now, Ragna and Audin recognized it as well. Their eyes gleamed with realization.

Ragna finally committed to the swing. Enkrid met it by sweeping his shorter blade in a horizontal arc. Two weapons, both heavy with concentrated Will, smashed into each other with a deafening roar.

BOOM!

The impact felt as though the air had been shattered into pieces. It was as if a lightning bolt from the clouds had been intercepted by a volcanic blast from the earth. Azure sparks and pale, moon-colored light clashed and then veered away. Neither fighter was willing to absorb the full momentum of the collision, so the blades merely scraped past each other.

Since this was a spar, both men stepped back. As they moved past one another—one veering left, the other right—a wide distance opened between them.

The duel was over.

Ragna had exhausted nearly all his mental energy and needed a moment to breathe. Enkrid, conversely, remained unfazed.

“Would you like to go again?” Enkrid inquired, holding Penna vertically before his face.

Ragna looked into Enkrid’s piercing blue eyes for a long moment, then lowered his sword and moved to stand beside Rem. The sight of the two of them standing together was almost humorous to those who knew how much their bond had strained during Enkrid’s absence.

“Well then, now that our two grumpy friends are out of the way,” Audin said, stepping into the center.

His gaze was alight with the same predatory hunger. He was consumed by the same blend of joy and competitive fire. Had he always possessed this side, or had Enkrid’s influence drawn it out? It didn’t truly matter. They were all consumed by a feverish desire to test themselves like madmen.

A shimmering golden radiance began to emanate from Audin’s form. It behaved like glowing sand, cascading over his body and swirling around his legs—a physical manifestation of his sacred power.

“This is the peak of my current ability,” he announced.

Audin lunged.

From his balled fist, a burst of light erupted. Whoosh! The radiance tightened into a needle-thin point, darting toward Enkrid’s face. It was a textbook punch—the pivot of the foot, the rotation of the hips—all empowered by divine energy and a conditioned physique. The strike resembled a spear forged of pure light.

Crash!

Enkrid parried this as well.

The light-spear was only the beginning. It fractured into a dozen points, raining down like a localized storm of stars. Fists, shins, and grasping fingers sought to find a weakness in his defense. Enkrid parried and repositioned, repeating the cycle again and again.

To a casual observer, it appeared that Audin was dominating the exchange. He was the aggressor, while Enkrid seemed pinned down. However, when Audin finally managed to close the gap, Enkrid released his grip on Penna, caught Audin’s lead arm, wrenched it, and drove his knee upward into Audin’s jaw.

Crack!

Audin managed to catch the blow with his palm, but he couldn’t prevent Enkrid from disengaging and catching Penna before it even hit the ground. Every transition was as smooth as a flowing river. From the moment he dropped his sword to the moment he reclaimed it, everything appeared to be a part of a complex calculation.

Warfare is usually defined by chaos and luck, but Enkrid made it feel as though every outcome was intended. Even his errors looked like they were part of the blueprint. He compartmentalized his mind, accelerated his perception, and navigated the battle by solving every equation in real-time.

I cannot defeat him, Rem thought once more.

Audin likely shared the sentiment. Despite having the most potent divine energy of the group, he could see the clear ceiling of his capabilities. From the sidelines, Rem watched as his axe began to vibrate. The sentient tool whispered to his mind.

I understand. But since you aren’t trying to end his life, I will stay out of it. This is merely a game, after all.

The weapon believed it had the power to kill—but Rem had no such desire. The axe was confusing Rem’s competitive drive for a lethal intent. They were not the same thing. If Rem were to tap into the axe’s true, dark potential, he might find a path to victory. But he refused. Even in the face of this gap in skill, he felt no resentment. Instead, he felt a surge of adrenaline.

Audin seemed to be experiencing the same rush.

“I concede,” Audin stated—the only one among the three to admit it plainly.

Heaving for air and covered in sweat, he asked:

“What is your perspective on this?”

Looking closely, Enkrid was just as taxed as the others. His clothes were drenched with perspiration, matching the state of Ragna and Rem. Audin’s question carried a heavy weight.

In that moment, their minds all drifted back to the day Enkrid first appeared to lead their unit.