Chapter 714

Chapter 714

The flash in her gaze, the plated gauntlets, the tempered physique that once bore armor, the minute adjustments, the rainfall, the gale, and even the murderous aura permeating the heavy air— Alexandra integrated every scrap of data, archiving it within her consciousness. It was the very technique Enkrid frequently exhibited—analyzing the environment and transforming it into a combat asset. However… ‘You aren’t the sole person capable of such feats.’ Despite the tempest’s fury, Alexandra’s concentration remained fixed entirely on the adversary ahead. She blocked out the world, narrowing her sensory field until only two beings existed—herself and her foe. Through this mental isolation, she could even nullify the petrifying hex of the Medusa. Naturally, the malady would still exert pressure from beyond her immediate focus. But she lacked the opportunity to simply march over and decapitate the Medusa at this moment. Consequently, she opted for total dismissal. She discarded everything else, focusing with a relentless ferocity. The rain was forgotten. The shrieking winds and the battering storm vanished from her mind. She entered a realm where only she and her rival remained. Within the comrade who had crawled back from the grave, traces of the woman she once knew still lingered. Past the visor emitting dark miasma, she caught sight of the lengthy braid. Andante had always kept her hair long and flowing. It was Alexandra who had persuaded her against cutting it, insisting its beauty was too great to discard. After Alexandra taught her the craft of braiding, Andante had maintained that style ever since. ‘You truly did keep it long for years after that.’ In later times, she had even joked about concealing daggers within the woven strands—though it had been a mere jest back then. Ssssss… The dark vapor solidified, drawing back into the helm. It resembled a solemn rite performed on the cusp of engagement. Alexandra gripped the earth with her toes a fraction tighter. She and Andante were never ones for drawn-out skirmishes. Their preference had always been for the lethality of a single, decisive exchange. For that reason, Andante had cherished their training bouts during her life. “When death feels within reach, the world loses that stifling scarlet hue.” She would say this with a grin, even while blood poured from a heavy gash in her leg. The scarlet world—Andante frequently described her vision in those terms. To an outsider, it might sound macabre, but to her, it was the legacy of a dark history that had birthed an insatiable hunger. A hunger that only the taking of life could quiet. That murderous intent honed itself into a needle-sharp point, thrusting directly at Alexandra. The atmospheric weight became a jagged, blood-stained blade nearly grazing her skin. Yet Alexandra didn’t flinch. They were like two performers balancing on a wire strung across a high abyss. ‘Let’s settle this with one strike, Andante.’ What is the result when you take a warrior and infuse them with disaster—and then with the grave? The manifestation of that answer stood before her. Andante would move with a speed and fluidity far exceeding her living capabilities. Alexandra didn’t require a clash of steel to realize this. Andante held several new advantages. Primarily, she did not breathe. One cannot calculate the rhythm of a corpse. Furthermore, she no longer needed to prime her muscles or show any physical warning—she could exert maximum power instantaneously. That raw, predatory instinct was a gift bestowed upon the death knight. The solitary comfort was that her Will remained stagnant. The Will of a knight does not expand easily—and after the heart stops, it ceases to grow entirely. Only the resolve held in life could be wielded now. Additionally, her physical form could knit itself back together with haste. This meant only the cranium and the neck were viable points of termination. And clearly, the opponent understood this as well. ‘She will instinctively strike to claim victory.’ To the naked eye, the pair stood in absolute stillness. Neither had unsheathed a weapon. Their limbs hung relaxed; their stances appeared almost negligent. A casual observer might have thought they were preparing for a civil greeting. But death knights were not known for their cordiality. CRACK! A streak of white fire tore through the heavens between them. Even then, neither moved. After a tension that felt both eternal and fleeting, Alexandra initiated the strike. She coiled her legs, lunged off the earth, and surged forward. Before her frame had even fully displaced, her palm had already found its hilt. Blitzkling—she was hailed as the “Lightning Blade.” The name existed because her draw was as rapid as a bolt from the sky. She had never revealed this level of velocity even during her matches with Enkrid. Even with Lynox watching, she maintained hidden arts that she withheld from their duels. Naturally. She compressed the Will churning inside her and ignited it in a single explosion. That violent release allowed her to shatter her own physical constraints for a heartbeat. BOOM! A cacophonous detonation. Her steel sliced through the atmosphere, piercing the veil of time as it closed in on the target. CLANG! Andante, in her state as a death knight, reacted to Alexandra’s incredible speed. She didn’t move to deflect—she countered with a thrust of her own. Had Alexandra maintained her trajectory, she would have been run through the torso, leaving only a minor mark on Andante’s visor. Instead, she ignited her power a second time. BOOM— A second thunderclap echoed in her mind. It wasn’t a physical noise, but a sensory distortion caused by the total expenditure of her remaining Will. Her torso twisted mid-air. The sword shifted into a jagged, lightning-like path and slammed into the death knight’s head. CLANG! The helmet shattered, dark mist erupting outward. Alexandra’s vision bled into deep red. Hot fluid leaked from her nostrils, and her knees buckled. Turning around through a crimson haze, she glimpsed the decayed remains of a skull within the ruined helm. WHRRRRRRRRR. In the wake of her passage, a spinning vortex of air had formed—a corridor carved through the downpour. Only now, after the singular clash, did the environment display the trauma of her movement. “Ghhh…” A sword saturated with Will—a true branded blade—had cleaved the skull. Even the dead have limits. Destroy the head, and the curse breaks. Andante’s final utterance was a mere “Ghhh…” Her genuine final words had likely been reserved for Heskal. “Khak!” Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut, letting the rain wash the bloody tears from her face. She sank to one knee, driving her sword into the mud for support. Then she whispered, “Andante, if you’ve found peace… then depart.” The girl had once remarked that she wished to witness a blade faster than any other. Well, she had finally seen it. Two consecutive Will detonations—such an act was bordering on suicidal. And she had executed the second more fiercely than the first. Her midsection burned as if her internal organs had been shredded. Her skull felt ready to fracture. The agony was so intense she wondered if life was fleeing her. Her vitals were in knots, and she lacked the strength to stand. But it mattered not. She had mastered this art in her youth, and though the cost had been her fertility, she harbored no regrets. She had not carried a child in her womb, but she had raised one in her heart. And ultimately, the skill she had perfected had served to shield her people. ‘Still… this is quite punishing.’ Even back in Zaun, Alexandra’s condition hadn’t been dire. Only a persistent cough. But with her body broken like this, the sickness began to claw its way out. A sudden, freezing tremor shook her. It had been a single strike—but that one cut had put down a death knight. She had fulfilled her duty. The tragedy was that the war raged on. ‘But my limbs won’t obey.’ Gargoyles and beasts flapped through the clouds toward her position. And the Medusa’s gaze remained fixed. The petrification hex she had previously brushed aside now felt like an iron weight. Alexandra dipped her head to escape the creature’s sight. The magical serpents continued their writhing above, and the Medusa circled the sky, wings beating, while predators dove at her. ‘This is a grim situation.’ As if the intellect within one particular lizard-beast was especially lacking, it lunged at her with bravado. Alexandra appeared to be barely clinging to consciousness, propped up by her weapon. The stray lizard-beast unhinged its jaws to crush her skull. Alexandra drew and cut. Then she hammered her blade back into the earth. The motion was so swift that no common eye could have tracked it. SPLAT! The creature collapsed before her, the top of its head sliced away mid-air, its mouth still agape. That act alone was a testament to her prowess. ‘I said it’s really not looking good.’ She lacked the energy even for speech. Yet, the circle of beasts and horrors around her was tightening. The reason was easily deduced. ‘Tempe.’ He had been intercepted—despite having Lynox at his side. ‘That scavenger Heskal… this reeks of his meddling.’ He had choreographed the entire sequence. The transformation of Andante into a death knight. Her deployment to this specific spot. Whether he truly expected her to win or lose, Alexandra couldn’t say. But her death here would certainly push the momentum toward Zaun’s downfall. Her perception began to fade, and she felt the heavy chill of her drenched silks. A terminal sign. ‘Will someone please deal with that miserable snake-woman.’ Between the stone-curse and the magical snakes, the area was a living nightmare. One of the creatures gifted with telekinesis seized her sword. An unseen grip tightened around the steel. And behind her, she felt a shadow. Her failing senses didn’t detect the presence until someone was already looming over her. ‘Total chaos.’ She wrenched her blade from the mental grip and lashed out behind her. She summoned enough vitality for one final blow. If this was her end, she would strike and call out her husband’s name. If she was passing, he’d better be the one to finish the job. And if not… She would die here and ensure she haunted his next bride. Absolutely. ‘So come and save me, Tempe.’ She calculated the gap between herself and the figure closing in from the rear. She tore her sword free from the telekinetic pull and swung with everything left. CRACK—WHOOSH—THUD! The strike was intercepted. The newcomer raised their blade vertically, halting her momentum with effortless grace. Then they closed the distance—instantly. Too fast for her to even utter her husband’s name.

Enkrid took stock of the arrows suspended in the air. From that count alone, he could deduce the truth—this location had been the gathering point for nearly every monster possessing supernatural traits, particularly the elite ones. There were undoubtedly many creatures capable of telekinesis remaining, but those were likely little more than distractions. He didn’t need intuition to see it. The proof was staring him down. Without even a gesture, at least five entities stood motionless—each levitating more than ten arrows. Fifty dark-tipped projectiles hung in the void, all locked onto him. Once they were unleashed, the situation would become precarious. Furthermore, the tips were an obsidian black. Enkrid would have staked Rem’s limb on the fact that they were coated in venom. “I am Panito, the right hand of Lord Heskal.” The individual holding the net finally spoke. Enkrid shifted his gaze toward him. The muted shimmer of the armor plates suggested a faint radiance—a treasure of artifact quality. Kraiss would have been salivating over such gear. Panito seemed utterly convinced that Enkrid was trapped. His very stance radiated that certainty. Observing that arrogance triggered a realization in Enkrid. ‘Does being ensnared in a net truly signify the end?’ No. It did not. A concept surged into his mind in a heartbeat. No—a sudden clarity. It could be described as a moment of tactical brilliance. ‘Integrate the Blade of Coincidence with the Tactical Sword.’ Utilize the Tactical Sword as the logical foundation—infuse it with bursts of brilliance, and bring luck and chance under his direct command. Every element exists to provide leverage. That is the essence of strategy. His brain, working at a heat that felt like it might boil, produced the solution. Thus, Enkrid spoke—his voice echoing like a perfectly tuned instrument, steady and purposeful. “Everything is unfolding exactly as intended.” No. He was definitely caught. But if even random chance could be woven into his will, then this predicament, too, was a component of his design. “…You foresaw this?” Panito questioned, his voice thick with skepticism. “Naturally.” Enkrid’s tone was unshakable. Compared to Ragna, who could point at a sunset and swear it was dawn without blinking, this was minor theater. “Astonishing. Enkrid of the Border Guard.” Enkrid had never faced Panito in combat before. Some of Heskal’s lieutenants were rarely encountered due to assignments far from the inner circle—Panito was likely one of them. Panito was visibly shaken, and Enkrid’s thoughts drifted for a moment. Since he had decided to bind coincidence to his intent, projecting that reality was now a facet of swordplay. Tactics are rooted in misdirection—therefore, the Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword was effectively a sword of illusions. A minor epiphany resonated through his mind. The Valen-style mercenary swordplay never offered a manual on how to swing a blade. That was because it was an art of deception. Strategy is built on lies. If he continued to investigate and sharpen the Tactical Sword, he might glimpse the next horizon of his path. A system of combat founded on falsehood—no, a martial philosophy rooted in redirecting the truth. He couldn’t synthesize it all this second. It was merely a seed to be tended later. For the moment, the present crisis demanded his attention. “You concentrated all the high-tier supernatural monsters here, intending to eliminate a single knight before driving your legions into Zaun, didn’t you?” He spoke because he had unmasked the enemy’s goal. Once a foe reveals their hand, the logic behind the play becomes transparent. “Precisely. You even deduced that?” Panito was evidently not cunning enough to mask his shock. Either that, or Enkrid’s performance had reached perfection. Enkrid stepped forward as though walking a path the Tactical Sword had laid out for him. “Yes. Every move is going according to plan.” If Kraiss were present, he’d label him the finest deceiver on the continent. If Lua Gharne were observing, she would be clapping her small, damp hands in delight. “No one passes me.” And that part, at least, was the absolute truth. Whether it was a pre-arranged strategy or a sudden improvisation, the moment Enkrid stood before them, he knew his purpose. By this time, even that scoundrel Ragna likely grasped the part he had to play. “Even with your knowledge, you cannot halt the tide.” Panito ground his teeth. To find that a stranger had dismantled his master’s grand design sparked a flicker of jealousy. That envy surged into fury—and a burning desire to execute the man standing before him.