Chapter 667

Chapter 667

No praise could have carried more weight for Aitri. Despite this, the hammer-wielding eccentric merely stood there, his face devoid of any smile. “Pure Iron.” That was the entirety of his remark. “Understood,” Enkrid answered with equal brevity, giving a firm nod. Following that short interaction, Enkrid departed from the smithy, quickening his stride—not out of necessity, but because of his burning desire to test his new meteoric iron blade. In a technical sense, it was a sword of black gold, true silver, and meteoric iron, though such a title was far too cumbersome. I should find a better name—something like Odd-Eye. He needed a title that was sharp and instinctive. “Tri-Iron Sword”? Had the weapon possessed a spirit, it likely would have leapt from its casing and marched away in offense. Luckily, it remained silent. Even so… I actually like it. Enkrid felt a smirk forming within. Although meteoric iron served as the foundation, calling it a “meteor sword” felt inaccurate. The quality of such ore varied, and the specific lot Aitri used was prone to shattering if forged into a standard blade—yet, when compressed into a central core, it achieved incredible density and perfect balance. It made sense why that villain Black Snake Elela utilized it for protection. The material was better suited for plating than for a cutting edge. Aitri had cleverly relegated it to the internal spine of the weapon. The remnants had been put aside for further study. By the time Enkrid left the forge, preoccupied by these thoughts, the marketplace was beginning to wake up. Citizens were starting to drift into the paths, though the area was not yet congested. Since Kraiss had restructured the district’s organization, the streets rarely became so packed that movement was restricted. Furthermore, the hour was still early. Enkrid navigated the market road, stepping rhythmically. Before his next stride landed, he rested his palm on the hilt of his weapon, pivoted his weight, and adjusted his posture, sliding his right foot back a fraction. In that fluid transition, he surveyed his environment. To the upper right: a folded tarp and the timber skeleton of a building under construction, accompanied by a builder’s tools. To the left: a tired youth sitting aimlessly on a doorstep, having been nudged awake too soon. Above, the morning light cut through the gaps between structures and fabric covers, creating moving shadows. And positioned across the market hub, neither fully concealed nor entirely out in the open, stood a warrior woman. She was outfitted in a chestpiece assembled from steel scraps, with leather guards protecting her midsection and legs. Her attire radiated arrogance. Her mouth curved. “Correct?” The inquiry required no response. She was already certain. Without pausing for an answer, she initiated her move. With a light spring, she lunged, traversing the intersection in a heartbeat. Ching! She unsheathed her blade while in full sprint, weaving past the few people in the square. Seen from above, her path would have looked like a graceful arc. She moved through the crowd with the fluidity of a serpent—one whose venomous fangs were a blade aimed directly at Enkrid’s forehead. Ping. Naturally, the strike failed to land. Enkrid tilted his body and brought Penna upward. He wasn’t yet accustomed to the feel of his new weapon. And this adversary wasn’t someone to take risks against. Shhk. Penna didn’t find its mark either. Enkrid had anticipated the perfect moment, swinging in a trajectory that should have been inescapable—but the swordswoman had anticipated his read and retreated. She had already vanished beneath the shadows of a tarp held up by wooden posts. The darkness partially swallowed her form. The twist of her mouth betrayed her delight. She’s enjoying this. She looked genuinely entertained. Then she surged forward once more. Her velocity was a match for Enkrid’s own. Steel glittered. Bodies swayed. Neither side pressed too hard nor gave any ground. Their tactical perception was balanced—foreseeing the other’s intent was a grueling task. They perceived one another as true peers. Whir, flick, stab, cut. In a strange sort of unison, the pair performed a lethal dance through the gathering crowd. And yet, not a single bystander was scratched. Penna swept over the head of the dazed boy on the stairs. The steel only stirred a slight gust through his hair, a testament to Enkrid’s exactitude. The boy, only realizing the danger after it had passed, ducked and touched his head—too late. They were long gone. The woman’s blade skimmed over the shoulder of a slow-moving elderly woman. It didn’t leave a mark. The woman stopped, tilting her head in confusion. “Eh?” Some noticed the skirmish, but none could truly grasp the reality of it. A baker, wiping sleep from his eyes, blinked in disbelief. Did something just fly past? It was impossible to say. The combatants never remained static. Their silhouettes flickered in and out of the corners of vision. It appeared less like a life-and-death struggle and more like a high-stakes game of tag. “Is there a brawl?” someone whispered. Enkrid recognized that a duel in the heart of the market was a disadvantage for him. If the stranger decided to target the public, he would be forced into a defensive role. She acted with cold calculation, using the citizens as human barriers. Though he possessed superior strength, the setting restricted him. A poor tactical environment. He thought back to how he had manipulated the demon one-killer into a fixed gaze to prevent it from scanning elsewhere. This woman possessed a tactical mind far superior to that creature. Strategy wasn’t just for massive armies. If anything, it was more vital in a one-on-one fight. Any attempt to use the terrain, timing, or distance was a tactical choice. She has the upper hand here. After several exchanges, Enkrid saw the truth. She manipulated the surroundings and claimed the advantage of the field. Everyone near her acted as her shield. Everyone near Enkrid was someone he felt obligated to save. He didn’t view this as a flaw, however. If he did, he would never have taken an oath to guard everything behind him. It was time for the math. The Wavebreaker Sword wasn’t merely a defensive technique—it was a method for sharpening one’s mental acuity. Since his return to the Border Guard, Enkrid had drilled with his unit. He had absorbed much, even if his progress felt slow. Rem had described his talent as uniquely irritating. But Enkrid persisted, and his persistence bore fruit. He pushed the boundaries of the Wavebreaker’s reach. He stole a few techniques from Jaxon. “Broaden your awareness. Establish a perimeter of perception.” Taking Jaxon’s advice to heart, Enkrid did exactly that. He pulled in every detail—images, noises, scents, flavors, physical feelings—and refined them into pure instinct. He processed the data and ran the numbers. The needle finds the center. He merged this byproduct of Wavebreaker training with its fundamental tenet—calculation. Accelerated thought allows one to peer further into the future. His eyes felt hot. A line of blood escaped his nostril and ran across his lip. This level of focus required two conditions. First, the setting had to be familiar—otherwise, the sheer number of variables would crash his mind. Second, he had to be acutely aware of his own breaking point. Push too hard, and the lights go out. The human mind can overheat. He had learned that through pain. Now, he met both requirements. He didn’t frequent the market daily, but the path was well-known to him. And managing his capacity? He had practiced that for years. The key was restraint—and when it came to sheer Willpower, Enkrid’s discipline was unrivaled. Thud. He brought his foot down hard on the paving stones. The eyes of the crowd snapped toward him. Calculations were about likelihoods. He had mapped out several paths. He ignored the ones where he merely avoided harm and chose the one where he forced an opening, limiting her movements. He dragged the future he envisioned into the current moment. Feeling the weight of public observation, he stepped again—this time with heavy, obvious intent. His rival mistook this change in rhythm for a flaw and struck. From the rear—to the left. Enkrid twisted his torso and pulled his weapon with minimal effort. A chance to evaluate the new blade. Using his left hand, he drew the new sword halfway—just enough to utilize the sheath as a solid buckler. If she tried to retreat, he would finish the draw and hunt her down. She understood this. Therefore, she could neither pull back nor pivot. CLANG! The collision of steel echoed with thunderous force. Finally, a voice cried out: “They’re fighting!” During a period of high alert, Kraiss had mandated evacuation procedures for the people of the Border Guard. He had been mocked for it at the time—but now, at the sound of violence, the civilians vanished into doorways and shops like mist. “Call the Guard!” Someone else screamed. “Our window is closing, isn’t it?” the swordswoman remarked, noting the shift in the air. Yet, she seemed unbothered that her shields were leaving the field. Notably, she hadn’t attempted to seize any innocents to use as leverage. A knight—or a warrior of equal caliber. Enkrid said nothing. Instead, he clicked the half-drawn sword back into its place. Chak. Effortless exit, effortless return. A masterpiece of a weapon. Even the scabbard felt like a natural extension of his arm. If victory seemed impossible, he would have relied on the new sword regardless of his lack of practice with it. But… Penna is sufficient. He didn’t believe he would lose. The only thing that bothered him was… her face. It felt strangely familiar. Where had he encountered her before? Even with his keen memory, it was impossible to track every face he had ever passed in his travels. “Your tactical sense is impressive. You identified the disadvantage and cleared the board.” She spoke once more, and Enkrid gave a slight nod. The fact that she didn’t harm the fleeing people earned her his respect. “And you’re certain you can defeat me? That sword you just touched—you only just got it, right? And the other one, you’ve recently swapped as well? Based on the curve and the edge, it’s a blade meant for cleaving.” Her inquiries were essentially observations. She didn’t wait for him to speak. She dipped her sword slightly. Its metal shone with a ghostly white luster. Even after a single contact, he knew—it was no common blade. “I wonder what the others are up to right now.” Then she tossed out a random thought: “Do you honestly think I arrived here by myself?” Was it a quirk of hers, ending every thought as a question? “I didn’t, did I?” Even when making a declaration, she phrased it like a curious mystery. “Who are you?” Enkrid demanded. If she wasn’t alone, it meant a coordinated strike was underway. They weren’t just coming for him; they were targeting the Border Guard itself. He couldn’t place her. There were too many missing pieces. He would have to beat the answers out of her. “Take a guess,” she teased, then vanished into motion again. As if her previous use of the crowd had been a hindrance, she was now even swifter—more fluid. Her sword tore through the air like a beam of pure light. Enkrid never stopped the math. He drove his mind even harder to stay ahead of her. He weighed the odds and selected the most logical route. Perhaps that was the secret to making every strike the definitive answer. His burning brain hunted for the solution. He read her soul between the flashes of her steel. His disciplined body rose to meet the demands of his accelerated mind. CLANG! The weapons crashed together once more before separating. The vibration left Enkrid’s hand cold. She possessed undeniable power. “You are formidable,” she said, her tone lingering on the words. But even as the words left her lips, she lunged forward with devastating speed. Between the shimmering arcs of their blades, Enkrid calculated the probabilities. Despite the blood staining his face, a smile broke through. To be honest? This was exhilarating. His mind felt as though it were dissolving in pure, focused joy.