Chapter 715

Chapter 715

“What do you believe defines a truly masterful fraud?” Kraiss had posed the question without warning. At the conclusion of a day’s march, the companions would sometimes huddle around the flames, roasting nuts. It was the sort of aimless talk that naturally drifted through the smoke during those quiet hours. It was essentially a bit of trivial rambling he tossed out while waiting for a chestnut to stop searing his fingertips. “Isn’t it just having a brain that functions better than everyone else’s?” Rem countered, gesturing to his own forehead while using the flat of his axe to split walnuts. Snap. Crack. He applied the exact amount of pressure and hit the perfect spot; the shells parted neatly without being crushed to dust. Kraiss gave a theatrical shake of his head, earning a derisive snort from Rem. In response, Rem flung the axe straight at him. Naturally, Kraiss remained unharmed—Enkrid, seated right beside him, snatched the weapon out of the air before it could connect. “My thanks for the rescue, Captain.” Kraiss spoke with total nonchalance, and Enkrid gave a solemn nod in return. “That marks the sixteenth time I’ve kept you from an early grave. Is this how you repay the man who keeps you breathing? The least you could do is peel a chestnut for me.” “Certainly, certainly, right away.” With a flick of his wrist and his knife, Kraiss offered up a perfectly cleaned, pale nut. Nearby, Shinar was delicately wrapping her walnuts in flower petals before eating, while Esther sat in silence, nibbling on pine nuts and observing the chaos. Rem, having reclaimed his axe, grumbled under his breath, “That prick isn’t even intimidated anymore.” Ragna, who was sitting close by, offered a bit of pragmatic advice, “If your goal is actual murder, you really should swing from a shorter distance.” “…You absolute lunatic. You think that hadn’t occurred to me?” Rem snapped, though the tension didn’t spill over into an actual brawl. To the side, Jaxon was meticulously lining up his chestnuts in straight rows, while Audin gave a rambling sermon about how they should all be grateful to the heavens for such a harvest. Enkrid nodded, enjoying the roasted sweetness, and focused back on Kraiss’s argument. “The intelligent ones? They start to depend entirely on their own cleverness, get blindsided by what they missed, and end up knocking on death’s door. They get caught in their own webs. That’s why the masters don’t place their faith in their intellect.” Enkrid didn’t speak, his mouth full of food and water, but he offered a small nod of curiosity. “The masters are simply experts at selecting the right victim.” That was the essence of Kraiss’s philosophy. A truly brilliant deceiver never targets a difficult mark. He noted that professional gamblers operated under the same logic. “Winning the hand isn’t the point. The point is convincing the fool to take a seat at the table.” Exactly so. Deceiving a sharp mind is a chore, but misdirecting the naive is effortless. The real skill lies in identifying the prey. Standing there now, Enkrid felt the profound weight of that lesson. “So, you claim to have seen this coming as well?” Panito—the man who called himself Heskal’s right hand—spoke with a voice that crackled like dry wood hitting a flame. His gaze, his jerky movements, and the words hissed through his teeth were all burning with intensity. Yet, beneath that heat lay nothing but pure envy. Enkrid paid the man’s tone no mind. Even if Panito were to start exhaling literal fire, Enkrid would simply step out of the way and remark, “Oh, so you’re a fire-breather,” with total apathy. Panito lifted his primary sword into the air. Through some dark craft, the metal of the blade seemed to ripple like ink-black water. SKREEEEEE— The weapon let out a piercing wail. It was a cursed tool, inhabited by a malevolent spirit. Was it a sentient ego-blade? No, it was more likely a standard demonic weapon. “Naturally.” Enkrid gave a steady nod, causing Panito’s eyelid to jump. Observing that reaction, Enkrid’s mind continued to race. If you align every occurrence and frame every fluke as part of your original goal, the logic falls into place. Loose beads turn into jewelry once you provide the string. Who provided that foul blade? What are its properties? By using layered logic and analytical deduction, one can bridge the gap between a guess and a fact—and uncover the reality of the situation. “You’ve put all your chips on that blade Drmul gave you? The one designed to stifle a warrior’s Will and use ghosts to chain your own physical autonomy?” The way he phrased it was purposefully ambiguous yet specific enough to rattle his opponent. It was a calculated probe to see how he would react. Panito shuddered visibly. His very frame twitched. He had displayed the weapon with such arrogance, clearly convinced that a single scratch would guarantee his victory. Even Pell had once wielded a similar blade. The lesson learned there was the Will of Rejection. Pell’s Idol Slayer was ineffective against knights who understood how to project their Will. Therefore, Panito’s weapon had to be either far more lethal or specifically tailored to the current threat. ‘Panito’s prowess is quasi-knight at best, yet he stepped out with such confidence.’ And he showed no sign of fear. These were mere guesses, yet they hit the mark perfectly. “How could you possibly…?” Panito’s mouth hung open. The falling rain began to pool in his mouth, but he was too stunned to shut it. “I already informed you—everything is moving according to my design.” Enkrid spoke while noting another fact—this man had likely never left the confines of Zaun. He hadn’t seen the world, hadn’t been swindled, hadn’t lost at a card table. To put it bluntly—he was a sucker. “Go on then. Bring out whatever else you have lurking in the shadows.” That statement? Pure theater. “How… how did you find out about—?” Panito was once again staggered by the revelation. “It is all part of the strategy.” Enkrid doubled down on the line, winning a massive psychological victory. And as if on cue, two figures emerged from behind Panito—beings that hadn’t even registered in Enkrid’s colorless sensory map. They were specialists in concealment, the kind of shadows that the mind ignores even when the eyes see them. They were draped in heavy, hooded cloaks—garments stitched with enchantments designed to veil their presence. They carried swords, but their eyes were voids of black. They looked human, but they lacked souls. One was towering; the other was slight. To be honest, it was a genuine surprise. But Enkrid was a veteran of deception—it was the very reason the Valen-style mercenary sword resonated with him. “…So, this was also part of the plan.” Because he had committed to turning every mishap into an intentional move, Enkrid didn’t let his mask slip. He pushed the lie even further. “I can anticipate a thousand moves while standing still.” It was an outrageous lie. “Ah—I see now!” Panito’s jaw dropped even lower. You could have shoved a fist into his mouth. “I can even predict the events of tomorrow.” Another ridiculous claim. “That… that’s impossible.” Panito’s eyes bulged. Yet, he looked as though he believed every word. “I see it clearly. The future.” Panito’s face twitched. Then he clamped his mouth shut, forcing himself back to a combat stance. As gullible as he might be, he was still a trained fighter. He wouldn’t shatter that easily. “Even so… the outcome remains the same.” Panito declared, slashing his arm downward. That simple gesture signaled the volley. Over fifty crossbow bolts tore through the air at once. This wasn’t about a clever dodge—they intended to pin him to the earth like an insect. Simultaneously, spectral hands of telekinetic force manifested, parting the rain as they reached out to seize him. But the moment Panito’s hand dropped—Enkrid was already gone. If your lies grant you an advantage, you must seize it. The Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword utilizes every aspect of the surroundings. And the Valen-style mercenary sword? Its primary tenet was: If your deception is grand enough, even the heavens can be misled. “Panito! Look out!” Enkrid bellowed while leaping to the side, his eyes still shut. His voice carried the weight of a commander—just as the bolts hissed by and the invisible hands grasped at nothing. Much like Tempest Zaun could condense pressure into a blade, Enkrid forged his aura into a physical weight. That aura crashed down on Panito. It felt like an immovable, towering stone wall. It was a pressure born of absolute honesty and rigid resolve. To Panito’s perception, Enkrid had just shifted his weight to his back leg, preparing for a thunderous forward charge. Panito’s thoughts raced at high speed—he could feel the breath of death. Enkrid’s projected pressure was simply that immense. In that fraction of a second, Panito threw everything he had into a defense. He had to stop it. His armor carried enchantments to turn aside blades. It would hold for a few hits. Then, using the cursed steel from Drmul, he would strike—and the spirit within would infect his enemy’s psyche. That seed of madness would cause the foe to hallucinate, hear voices, and lose all sense of reality. And that wasn’t the end of it. The moment the enemy’s mind faltered, the two hooded golems would tear him apart. In reality, the most lethal threats weren’t the cursed sword— It was those two artificial warriors. Flash Golems, meticulously crafted by a master alchemist. Come then. He was prepared. The time to strike had arrived. “…You bastard.” The curse fell from Panito’s lips. THUD-THUD-THUD! All fifty bolts buried themselves in the mud. The telekinetic power lost its lock and dissipated into the rain. The two golems, coiled like springs, froze in place. And just as Panito steeled himself to meet a knightly frontal charge— BOOM! Enkrid catapulted himself backward. The earth shattered under the impact. It was a raw, violent explosion of movement—a charge executed in reverse. The sheer speed made it appear as though he had blinked out of existence. Every one of them fell for it. And Enkrid—having utterly misled a fool—shot like a bolt between the two golems guarding Panito’s rear. If they had anticipated him, they would have countered. But this… this was the brand of trickery that made you doubt your own eyes before you started swearing. He bluffed with aura, retreated at high speed, and delivered a strike with his full momentum. The first blow severed the head of the larger golem. CRACK! The sound of the steel meeting the neck was brutal—the golem’s shell had been incredibly dense. Given that Enkrid had put everything into that swing, one might expect the smaller golem to have time to react. He didn’t give it any. Enkrid swung his right-hand blade while simultaneously hurlng the sword in his left. The moment the large head hit the ground, the second blade was buried deep in the small golem’s skull. The impact sent the smaller creature’s legs into the air, its body tumbling back through the filth. Splash. Heskal understood Lynox. He was familiar with his arts, his temper, and his patterns. Lynox might have possessed strange skills, but in a fight, he was a man of honor who never used low tricks. That was who Lynox was. But Enkrid was a different beast. Deceive. Enkrid had internalized the heart of the Valen-style mercenary sword—and he executed it flawlessly. He scanned the field with Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword and manipulated the terrain. And with Valen-style techniques, he used his refined reflexes to lead his enemies into a trap. “You damn swindler!” Panito screamed. Enkrid, having neutralized the two golems, appeared to hesitate—taking a labored breath. To any observer, it looked like a moment of exhaustion. Which meant… it was another lightning-fast assault. There were still over ten scalers with potent supernatural gifts. ‘They can’t manifest their power without a clear line of sight.’ He had observed this pattern multiple times. “You’ve seen them move this much—haven’t you figured out their flaw yet?” If Frokk of the Mad Platoon were present, he’d likely offer a jab like that. The core of Lua Gharne-style Tactical Sword was perception. It wasn’t just a peek into the future—it was a constant, sharp understanding of everything on the battlefield. ‘And applying that knowledge at the perfect moment.’ It was about misdirection, timing, and using the world as a tool. Up until this second, Enkrid hadn’t once targeted the scalers’ vulnerabilities. He had hoarded that knowledge for this specific strike. With a sudden burst of deceleration and re-acceleration, he vanished from the scalers’ focus. Even monsters with high-speed reflexes have eyes that struggle with abrupt changes in pace. Enkrid knew this well—he had been on the receiving end of Alexandra’s similar tactics. Using that momentum shift, Enkrid closed the distance—appearing directly in front of Panito. “You madman!” In a panic, Panito swung his blade upward. Enkrid was the taller man. The instinctive fear of a downward strike forced a defensive reflex. Enkrid knew the weapon. A blade haunted by a dark spirit. He couldn’t permit even a nick. But hadn’t he survived dozens of such encounters? He had already faced Onekiller, a true demon. Compared to that, this was a cheap imitation. His gut told him: You won’t die, even if it touches you. But his cold, logical mind added: ‘Still, there’s no reason to take the hit.’ From above, the falling Three-Iron Sword slammed into the rising black steel. It was another tactical choice. He held the advantage in strength—and the advantage of gravity. BOOM! The collision produced a deafening roar. It sounded like a mountain collapsing into a valley. The shockwave cleared the air of rain and pushed back the wind. But it didn’t end there. The blades remained locked. Bind. Enkrid’s next action was simple. He leaned into the blade. Panito had the armor and the magical sword. But what of his physical power? In terms of sheer muscle, even Rem would concede that Enkrid was the superior. And now, Will was flowing through that muscle. That was what turned masters of Will into living nightmares— Their physical capabilities were pushed beyond the limits of nature. Panito had the equipment, but he lacked the foundation. “Nnggh!” Panito fought to hold his ground. But Enkrid’s blade slid across the top of his helmet. The sword Panito had raised for protection became the very thing that trapped him. Enkrid leaned in and drove the edge home. CLANG! CRACK! SHHHKT! The demonic blade was forced through Panito’s own helm. Despite the downpour, the sparks were brilliant. The steel bit through the helmet and sliced through the top of Panito’s skull. His arm buckled, and at the joint where armor was thin, a jagged bone tore through the skin. “You… you…” The naive Panito clung to his life for one final breath—even as his head was cleaved. But his power was gone. He could do nothing but stare—his eyes burning with a sense of profound betrayal. His gaze said everything. Even without words, the tears of blood spoke for him. “Heskal’s previous victims likely felt that exact same way.” Enkrid’s voice was devoid of emotion. One of the people Heskal had murdered had shared a few pleasant days with Enkrid. Only a few days—and yet the memory fueled his rage. If he felt this way, what must the others be suffering? Some felt an even deeper fury—and didn’t even understand the source. SKREEEEEE—! The malevolent spirit within the sword shrieked and bolted toward the sky. It gathered itself and then vanished—streaking back toward the enemy’s rear lines. Panito’s eyes clouded over as the rain filled them. He wheezed, struggling for air, and whispered: “Was… this… all… intended…?” No one could say who he was asking. With that, Panito’s life ended. All that remained was a pack of beasts. “Don’t bother running. I have no patience for a chase.” Enkrid’s eyes stayed shut—yet his honed perception felt even the telekinetic ripples in the air. Which meant… Opponents like these were almost too simple to dismantle.