Chapter 693

Chapter 693

The following day arrived.

Enkrid had intentionally slept in, and upon waking, he began to slowly and methodically stretch his limbs. He felt almost no lingering exhaustion. The bruising he had sustained from Ragna’s strike had likely vanished as well; he didn’t require a looking glass to confirm it. The conditioned physique of a knight possessed a recuperative power that far outstripped that of a common person.

“Legend.”

Whenever people spoke of Zaun, that was the primary descriptor. It was a title known only to those who had reached a specific peak of power, a name that never echoed in the casual rhymes of traveling singers. The term “legend” was more fitting for Zaun than any other.

“And among them, the leader of the house.”

A shivering thrill raced from his heels to the crown of his head, causing the tiny hairs on his skin to prickle.

“This is going to be magnificent.”

His anticipation began to boil over.

“The weather is grand,” Enkrid remarked, tilting his head toward the heavens.

Anne, who was beside him wiping the sleep from her eyes, followed his gaze upward and repeated skeptically, “Grand weather?”

Above them, the firmament was choked with heavy, obsidian clouds. She couldn’t fathom what he found pleasant about it.

“Yes, truly,” Enkrid insisted.

Standing behind Anne, Ragna chimed in. “Don’t bother listening. He gets into these moods sometimes.”

It was a version of him Anne hadn’t encountered yet, but she wasn’t shocked. She simply concluded that this was the reason behind his reputation as a madman.

“I suspect I’ll be quite occupied today as well,” Anne noted. She hadn’t traveled to Ragna’s ancestral home for a vacation; she was there to identify the origin of the plague.

Shortly thereafter, an armed page arrived to announce that the family head requested Enkrid’s presence. It was barely past daybreak—an exceptionally early hour—but Enkrid was already fully prepared. He moved to answer the summons immediately.

At the heart of a sprawling training plaza, the family head and his spouse stood waiting for Enkrid. There was no space for trivialities or polite inquiries about his night’s rest. As soon as Enkrid approached within ten paces, the identity of his first sparring partner became clear.

“The family head.”

The patriarch of Zaun and Ragna’s father.

Enkrid had never encountered a weight like this. It wasn’t just a physical burden; the pressure possessed a tangible shape. A massive greatsword seemed to tower before him. It was a phantom, yet it felt indisputably solid because the source of the presence was breathing right there in the flesh.

“It feels as though it truly exists.”

This was the pinnacle of presence.

The invisible tension had coalesced into the form of a gargantuan blade, a weapon so immense it made a human frame look puny. This spectral blade was triple the size of the family head himself. However, it wasn’t saturated with murderous intent.

Enkrid’s intuition, honed by insight and battle, provided the answer.

“This weight isn’t aimed at me.”

It served merely as a signal of combat readiness. It was likely that the bare minimum requirement to face the family head was the ability to remain standing under this pressure. Enkrid’s gut told him so, and he was right.

Ragna watched the manifesting aura of his father, whom he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

“It has expanded.”

His father possessed the ability to overwhelm an opponent before even drawing a weapon. That was his trademark. In contrast, Enkrid looked like a solitary reed shivering in a gale or a twig on the verge of snapping. The disparity in their auras was that profound.

Faced with such a manifested spirit, most warriors felt utterly insignificant. Consequently, the image of the opponent grew monstrous within their own minds before the first strike. It was a battle where the spirit surrendered before the body. The suffocating fear that one would be obliterated if that massive blade moved was the true power of this aura.

As Ragna observed, Enkrid’s own aura underwent a radical shift. Although Ragna was positioned behind him and couldn’t see his expression, he knew.

“He’s definitely grinning.”

That was the essence of the man. And Ragna was correct. Enkrid felt a rush of pure exhilaration, and his mouth curled upward involuntarily. This aura was unique; he had never felt anything like it. That alone made it wonderful.

Suddenly, the image of Anu, the King of the East, flashed in his mind. Perhaps Anu stood at a comparable summit.

“When he visited the Border Guard, he was merely idling with me.”

At that time, Enkrid hadn’t been capable of forcing the Mercenary King to reveal his true magnitude. But what about now?

His lips pulled back, revealing his teeth in a predatory smile. This blatant expression of joy caused Alexandra’s right brow to twitch.

“Is he actually smiling?”

Her face betrayed her confusion. Enkrid, however, didn’t notice. His entire world was narrowed down to the family head.

Teresa, who had been deep in her own training, suddenly spoke up.

“Brother Audin, Sister Shinar.”

The two warriors helping her stopped what they were doing. Shinar pulled back the hovering blades she had been controlling with her spirit, and Audin began unfastening a cracked steel gauntlet.

“What do you find most difficult about clashing with Captain Enkrid?”

It wasn’t a profound inquiry, just a thought that had surfaced during their rest.

Audin and Shinar responded simultaneously.

“Stubbornness.”

“Refusal.”

Though the words differed, the sentiment was identical. Shinar had chosen “stubbornness,” while Audin chose “refusal.”

Audin elaborated, “When it comes to learning, he’s a sponge. But once a fight breaks out, no amount of pressure can break him. It’s what one might call the Will of Refusal. I believe that is his core. He is a force that simply pushes onward, regardless of what others dictate.”

Shinar joined in, “He doesn’t know how to stop. Even when any sane person would quit, he stays the course. That level of persistence is impossible to account for.”

With Enkrid absent, Shinar’s usual mockery was tempered. Had he been present, she might have joked about how even a spirit of her caliber couldn’t dent his thick-headed pride. But the underlying message remained the same.

“I feel it too. Which means I need to demonstrate the resolve I’ve learned from our captain.”

Teresa gave a determined nod and rose, though she moved with a heavy limp. One of her legs was fractured, but she showed no intent of stopping. Enkrid had been a source of motivation for all of them; because of him, everyone except Ragna had decided to remain with the Border Guard. They wanted to capture some of that same fire.

“Let’s continue!” Teresa cried out, determined to surpass her own boundaries.

A smile?

Alexandra was intimately familiar with the crushing weight her husband projected. The way a person reacted to it served as a window into their soul.

The least impressive opponents were those who walked into the fray already convinced of their own failure. Such individuals could never hope to be pioneers.

“No, they would struggle even to be called knights.”

In the house of Zaun, knights were categorized into three groups: Trailblazers, Researchers, and Observers. Trailblazers were the seekers of new paths, Researchers were the technical masters, and Observers were the protectors. This hierarchy mirrored the philosophy of Zaun’s martial arts.

“Regardless…”

If a person began a fight expecting to lose, the highest they could hope to reach was the rank of researcher.

The second-worst category consisted of those who were blind to their own inadequacies.

“That is nothing but vanity.”

They were doomed to lose but were too arrogant to see it. They lacked the capacity for self-reflection. While some naturally gifted individuals might become trailblazers, Alexandra had never seen such a person truly succeed.

“And they lack the temperament for research as well.”

Those who deconstruct and perfect martial forms must be capable of honest self-assessment.

The third category included those who recognized their limitations. This was the mark of those who actually grew. They accepted their weaknesses and looked for a path forward. Her husband had little patience for them, but Alexandra respected that pragmatism. Even when facing certain loss, they fought with everything they had, desperately trying to tip the scales in their favor.

“They have the making of excellent researchers or steadfast observers.”

But the final category was the one her husband truly admired.

“Those who find pleasure in the pressure.”

They didn’t just practice the sword; they thrived in the tension of combat. They became intoxicated by the struggle. This was the soul of a true trailblazer—one who carves a path where none exists.

And yet, even among those who enjoyed the hunt, she had never seen someone like this man.

A broad, genuine grin stretched across his face. You could see the raw delight radiating from him. Enkrid looked as though he was in a state of bliss as he launched himself forward.

He walked straight through the crushing weight. It felt as though he would charge ahead with nothing but his blade even if the stars fell or the earth split open.

“A character expressed through every fiber of his being.”

Her husband, Tempest, finally unsheathed his weapon. Alexandra kept her eyes fixed on the scene. Even though this wasn’t a duel to the death, their spirits were so intense it felt like the brink of a real war.

Boom!

Tempest’s greatsword descended in a vertical arc. It was the technique known as the “Mountain-Crushing Blade.” It was incredibly heavy and appeared slow to the naked eye, but just before the strike landed, an invisible force—Will—would paralyze the target.

Just as she suspected, Enkrid felt the pressure trying to root his feet to the spot and lock his joints. He rejected it instantly.

“How incredible.”

Odinkar had been formidable, but the family head was on another level. Standing still, he was an immovable peak; in motion, he was a chaotic gale. That presence fueled the Will that surged through Enkrid.

Enkrid reached out, meeting the blow with Samcheol. It appeared as though he was taking the heavy blade head-on, but the dark gold metal of Samcheol tilted at the last microsecond, sliding the force of the impact away.

Boom!

Despite the deflection, the clash produced a massive shockwave. Ragna moved to stand in front of Anne, while Alexandra remained where she was, arms crossed.

“What just happened?” Anne asked, her eyes unable to track the speed.

“We have to back up,” Ragna warned, shielding her. At this intensity, a stray pebble could be as lethal as a bullet.

Whish—

The moment the weapons met, Enkrid actually released his grip on Samcheol and lunged inward. It was a terrifyingly bold gamble, something a traditional warrior wouldn’t expect. It was a technique from the Valen-style mercenary arts—a move born of split-second instinct.

From the very first exchange, he was putting it all on the line.

Enkrid balled his fist and swung with everything at the family head’s face. A clean hit to the chin could daze any knight, ruining their rhythm. The family head simply tucked his chin and caught the knuckles with the hard bone of his forehead.

Boom!

Simultaneously, the family head retaliated with a punch from the hand holding his sword. Enkrid dipped low, the fist whistling over his head, and brought his arms together in a cross over his chest. He utilized the Wavebreaker Sword technique to mitigate whatever was coming next—a decision made in a heartbeat.

Whack!

The family head’s knee crashed into the center of Enkrid’s guarded forearms. Enkrid purposefully let his body go light, allowing the impact to throw him backward like he was taking flight. As he moved through the air, he reached out with his left hand to snag Samcheol.

The tip of the sword, which had been embedded in the dirt, slid out smoothly, and Samcheol returned to his palm as if the weapon itself were eager to continue.

The family head, using the momentum from his knee strike, lunged forward with his greatsword in a powerful thrust.

“Expertly done.”

He was a master of both war and the arena.

Enkrid felt his right arm go numb from the knee strike. The family head had targeted the nerves and tendons perfectly. He had absorbed a punch with his head and then neutralized Enkrid’s right hand in a single sequence. He was a natural-born brawler beyond his sword skills.

However, Enkrid was ambidextrous. Switching to his left hand didn’t weaken his offense. In fact, using his deadened right hand as a secondary support, he executed a masterful grip change. This was a core part of his training now: the Valen-style mercenary blade switch.

With his left hand leading and his right providing base pressure, he aimed a counter-thrust directly at the family head’s blade, hoping to snap it.

“Aitri.”

The family head’s sword was his own creation; it wouldn’t shatter so easily. He didn’t flinch from the thrust.

Clang!

The point of Samcheol drew a sharp arc in the air, striking the side of the oncoming greatsword. The family head’s aim was forcibly knocked off course.

Enkrid’s Will was boiling. Joy and ferocity erupted within him like a volcano.

“Hah!”

With a guttural cry, Enkrid planted his right foot, pivoted his hips, and snapped his left leg forward. He kicked the side of the family head’s massive sword.

Boom!

He had redirected the blade with his own sword, and now he used a kick to the flat of the metal to completely kill the momentum of the attack.

In response, the family head let go of his own weapon and threw a heavy punch. The amber glow in his stoic eyes left a streak of light like a falling star as he bridged the gap.

“Did I assume he would be sluggish because of his weapon?”

Enkrid realized he had. The greatsword was slow, but the man’s feet were lightning.

Calculations from his Wavebreaker and Flash styles merged to provide a grim reality: “I cannot evade this.”

Enkrid gritted his teeth, his smile never wavering. He dropped Samcheol and extended two fingers on his left hand, driving them straight for the family head’s eyes. He moved without a shred of hesitation. If he couldn’t dodge, he would force a trade.

It was the ultimate conclusion of the Wavebreaker philosophy.

The family head squeezed his eyes shut and buried his fist into Enkrid’s solar plexus.

Boom!

A thunderous sound echoed, and Enkrid felt a strange sensation of weightlessness. He was launched through the air. At the peak of his arc, he hit the ground with a dull, heavy thud. Though he rolled and sprang back to his feet with the agility of a predator, the blow had landed.

If the family head had pressed the advantage, Enkrid would have been decimated, but the patriarch stopped. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his eye. His vision was intact; Enkrid’s fingers had only managed to slice the skin at the edge of the socket.

Despite struggling to find his breath from the impact, Enkrid had already unsheathed his dagger with the horn handle. Even while recovering, he was ready to hurl the blade and resume the fight instantly.

“Magnificent,” the family head declared. The duel was over.

A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the onlookers as the family head continued.

“Spontaneous reaction is always a step behind.”

He paused, then added, “Only the discipline of the past can answer the desperation of today. For that—you are excellent.”

He was not a man given to long speeches after a fight. Enkrid didn’t realize it, but the observers who had gathered were in shock. Usually, the patriarch said nothing at all after a spar. To start with the word “excellent” was unheard of.

“A significant guest,” noted a man with a thick mane of blonde hair.

“He doesn’t look especially gifted, though,” remarked another man with light brown hair, who carried a small arsenal of six blades across his body.

While the spectators whispered in disbelief, Enkrid spoke up.

“Again?”

It was exactly what those who knew him expected him to say. But his expression had shifted. The smile remained, but there was a profound intensity beneath it. It felt as though he was pouring his entire soul into that one request. The scent of his raw emotion filled the air like a shattered bottle of perfume.

Even those who couldn’t manipulate Will could feel the weight of it. It was an undeniable, overwhelming sense of desperation.