Chapter 720

Chapter 720

The moment they combined their strength.

Since arriving in Zaun, Enkrid had acquired various skills, but the most singular among them was the discipline of manipulating Will. He had encountered similar applications before within the Mad Squad; Rem, in particular, utilized a comparable method.

“Transfer of Will.”

That was the label for Rem’s specific art—detaching a portion of Will and imbedding it into a thrown weapon. It was commonly understood that attempting such a feat was impossible for anyone below the rank of a knight. Only upon attaining the status of a junior knight could a warrior even begin to utilize a fragment of Will for a temporary effect.

This made it a territory strictly for true knights, a task technically more demanding than the physical governance of the body. Paradoxically, however, Enkrid found the mastery of Will twice as intuitive as controlling his physical form. His internal reservoir of Will was bottomless, providing the ideal circumstances for endless, repetitive practice.

This didn’t imply he learned it through passive observation; Enkrid was the type of man who invested his entire soul into every lesson. Even a tiny spark of natural aptitude made the process of learning exhilarating for him. Managing Will was undeniably grueling, yet he relished it, losing himself in the practice. In truth, even when he was supposed to be practicing moderation, he tended to pour out his energy without reservation. He would frequently drain his infinite supply until he reached a state of hollow exhaustion, only to begin again.

He hadn’t navigated this path alone.

“It isn’t enough to simply discharge it; you must be able to mold its form at your whim,” Lynox had once advised regarding the nature of Will. Alexandra had also provided a demonstration of her own style. Within Zaun, these two were regarded as the most proficient practitioners of Will.

Lynox’s approach was akin to a flawless symphony—devoid of even a single error. He required absolute precision when increasing output or retracting it. He would separate only the exact portion required for the task. In essence, his way was one of total restraint. Enkrid’s own attempts at discipline were fashioned after Lynox’s example.

Such restraint was exhausting. It demanded constant, unwavering mental focus to keep the Will contained. It felt like balancing a bowl filled to the brim with water while moving; a single lapse in concentration would result in a spill. Enkrid, however, wasn’t just walking—ohe was engaged in combat under these conditions. Consequently, he “spilled” quite often, frequently drenching himself in the excess energy. For him, perfect control remained elusive.

Alexandra’s philosophy, by contrast, was the polar opposite. When people claimed restraint was difficult, they were usually comparing it to her method. Her style was something primal.

“Like setting the tail of a galloping stallion on fire.”

A beast in such a state would bolt with catastrophic momentum. There was no room for conservation or strategic planning; one cannot think logically when the heat of a blaze is at one’s back. It was like sprinting down a steep incline—the speed was far greater than on flat terrain, but the ability to steer was almost non-existent.

And Alexandra? She never bothered with steering. While Lynox focused on the architecture of Will, Alexandra manipulated its velocity. The rate at which she purged her Will dictated the speed of her blade. With an inexhaustible supply, Enkrid found it much simpler to unleash the flood than to dam it up. The sheer volume was overwhelming. Thus, while restraint was difficult, it made the challenge all the more engaging. Enkrid understood the profound satisfaction of enduring hardship to achieve a greater payoff.

Now, the moment for that payoff had arrived.

The internal fire didn’t merely burn away impurities; it surged violently through his frame. His extremities and his mind were ablaze with heat.

“Explosion.”

Enkrid muttered the word. If Lynox was the embodiment of restraint, Alexandra was the embodiment of detonation.

“Ignite.”

As the Will thundered through his veins, Enkrid lunged. Using Ragna’s shoulder as a platform, he vaulted forward. He kept his gaze fixed ahead. Against this volcanic eruption of Will, the stone-turning gaze of the Medusa was powerless. It was utterly ineffective. The creature’s hex could not penetrate; his Will of Rejection acted as a titanic bulwark, reflecting the curse entirely.

His feet found purchase on a scale. He used the blade-like surface to propel himself higher. The ascent was jagged and dangerous, but hadn’t he always preferred the difficult road? In fact, compared to his past, this path felt manageable.

There was no time for distraction. His knightly senses, which usually operated with meticulous slowness, could barely track his own movement. The heavy, oppressive atmosphere that had felt like a mire now seemed weightless. His body felt buoyant, bordering on divine. He raced up the creature’s back, scale by scale, before launching himself into the air. His body ascended as if it had shed the laws of gravity. To an observer, he might have looked like a dragon fighting its way up a waterfall against the very laws of the world.

KYAAAAAA!

Medusa dipped her head and unhinged her jaws. A torrent of emerald toxic gas erupted, clashing with the falling rain and creating a wide barrier to intercept him. Enkrid held his breath, his hand tightening around Three Iron.

TRRRRR—SHIIIIING.

The sound was muffled, like a distant explosion heard from deep underwater, as if a physical wall of pressure was swallowing the noise.

CRACK.

The scabbard disintegrated. Under the sheer force of the Will, Three Iron shattered its housing. Enkrid’s blade lunged for the Medusa’s throat. He gripped the black-gold hilt firmly. Even at his accelerated state of mind, the strike moved faster than his own thoughts.

“That absolute madman.”

Anahera had just regained her footing after losing her balance when she witnessed Enkrid’s maneuver. She had inadvertently pushed through the ranks of monsters, giving her an unobstructed view. She wasn’t the only one; the entire battlefield was watching. No one was so blind as to miss the Medusa that had been paralyzing their front lines. Seeing a man dance upon the beast was impossible to ignore.

Because the Medusa had narrowed its focus entirely on Enkrid, the petrifying fog lifted from the other warriors. They saw everything: the man climbing the serpent’s tail, the explosion of his scabbard, and the sword stroke that looked like a captured bolt of lightning. His climb had been a rising strike of electricity, and the finishing blow was its thunderous conclusion. The lightning took the shape of a blade and buried itself in the monster’s neck.

CRACKKKK!

The impact sounded like a siege engine’s stone crashing into a fortress. The Medusa’s scales flared up to protect her, but Enkrid smashed through the defense with raw power, tearing into her throat. Dark blood erupted, mingling with the rain in a black deluge. Yet, the beast clung to life; the neck was not yet fully severed.

Even with her throat half-destroyed, she spat venom, and the serpents atop her head struck out like living whips. Anahera almost cried out a warning, but the scene moved too fast. Enkrid’s blade was a blur of insanity, carving geometric patterns in the air. The freed sword lopped off the heads of the striking snakes before returning to finish the work on the Medusa’s neck.

THWACK!

A sickening thud followed, and the Medusa’s head was severed, falling through the air. A final, agonizing wail tore from the creature.

KIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!

THUD!

The head hit the earth. The ethereal image of the cursing serpent in the sky began to dissolve. The rain intensified as the massive carcass of the Medusa hit the ground with the force of an earthquake. Standing atop the dead titan, his blade still slick with gore near the stump of the neck, was a lone man.

“You magnificent bastard…” Anahera whispered, unable to stop the shivers running down her spine.

“UOOOOOOOHHH!!” A deep, guttural roar erupted from a nearby giant.

“WAAAAAAAH!!” The soldiers joined in. It was a unified victory cry from everyone who had seen the impossible. He had grabbed the failing scales of fate and forced them back into balance.

Then, behind the standing Enkrid, a massive dark projectile streaked through the air.

BOOM!

He was instantly swallowed by fire. The cheers died in throats. Everyone watched in shock. What was that? Why did the flames persist despite the torrential rain? Anahera’s mind raced with panic.

On the far side of the field, Alexandra watched the same explosion.

“Odinkar.”

“I see it, my lady.”

Odinkar had appeared at her side at the final moment. He had entered the fray to shield her, defying the family head’s directive to remain hidden for a future opening.

“He has been corrupted—by his ties to Ragna,” Odinkar remarked as he surveyed the chaos. “A true son of Zaun doesn’t retreat simply because of an order.”

Alexandra nodded in silent agreement. Odinkar had carved a path through the monsters to reach her. And while he was securing her position, Enkrid had finished the Medusa. Ragna’s presence earlier had been felt by all. The death of the curse-serpent brought a wave of hope, but the man responsible was now buried in black fire.

Alexandra’s own body was failing. Channeling Will at that intensity ravaged the physical form, tearing apart nerves and muscle fibers. While it could be managed with precision, Enkrid had used none.

“Hold this position, Odin.”

The voice belonged to the head of the house, Tempest Zaun. He had just dispatched four high-level threats. Though each was capable of slaying a knight, he had prevailed. Lynox was badly hurt, and Tempest himself looked ghostly pale, yet he continued forward.

“I will accompany you,” Odinkar said. He knew they needed rest, but he also knew they wouldn’t listen.

“It is more logical if I go,” Odinkar added.

The response was firm: “That is a command. Stay here. I intend to look upon the face of the wretch who has haunted my bloodline for two decades. I will not be denied.”

The family head turned away. In the distance, Enkrid remained enveloped in the dark inferno.

Even if handling Will felt intuitive, it wasn’t a skill perfected overnight. Both restraint and explosion required years of dedication, yet Enkrid had forced them both out of his soul by sheer necessity.

“It hurts.”

The agony had set in the moment his first strike failed to decapitate the beast.

“Not finished yet.”

He could endure. The turbulent Will inside him was still screaming like a pack of wild animals. Enkrid let them off the leash. He burned even more energy to stabilize himself in the air, clear the attacking snakes, and deliver the final blow. Then, for a heartbeat, his mind went dark.

In that brief void, the ferryman appeared. Before Enkrid could even hear the flow of the river, the figure spoke:

“If you were to attempt this again, do you truly believe you would succeed? Do you think luck favors the reckless twice?”

The tone was neither hateful nor kind—just a freezing reality. It was a caution that surviving today did not guarantee the same outcome tomorrow. Before he could speak, Enkrid was pulled back to the waking world. The ferryman vanished.

Standing on the Medusa’s remains, his sword buried in the flesh, he found he couldn’t move. He needed a moment just to breathe. Then, a sharp, biting aroma reached him.

“A curse.”

He realized it too late; his reflexes were sluggish. The black mass hit him and erupted.

FWOOSH.

Fire licked across his skin. He braced for the pain, but it never arrived. A gentle, emerald radiance surrounded him. It carried the scent of Shinar—the smell of untamed forests and morning mist.

CRACKLE.

Enkrid felt his fairy-crafted undergarments disintegrate. They crumbled like dry autumn leaves, leaving a rough texture against his skin. But the black flames were kept at bay. He threw himself backward, rolling across the ground to regain his footing.

Every joint in his body protested the movement. Blood leaked from the hand gripping Three Iron. A small error in restraint caused a leak of Will, but failing to shut down an explosion was like having his muscles shredded by a razor. He was fortunate his bones were intact.

Gods, the pain.

A soul-crushing weariness washed over him. Without temperance, this was a suicidal path. To give in to that power meant dying from internal hemorrhaging. Even without specialized insight, the outcome was obvious.

“Is that a relic of the fairies?”

The voice came from an old man with a third eye in his brow. Beside him was a young woman with a single horn. Behind them stood a nightmare—a skeletal figure barely held together by rotting skin, draped in a tattered cloak. It was a monster. Calling it human would be a lie.

“So, you actually took down the Medusa. Heskal was quite sure of himself—look where that pride led him.”

Only the old man spoke. The skeletal creature’s protruding eye darted between Enkrid and Ragna. Even without an introduction, Enkrid knew the truth.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Drmul.”

Enkrid didn’t look at the old man; he looked at the horror behind him. The living corpse shifted—the spirit of a dead man speaking through a ruined shell.

“Yes.”

The voice sounded like grinding bone and rot.

“I suppose I should offer my name.”

Enkrid hacked up a mouthful of blood. His internal organs felt like they were in a blender. But he had to finish the thought.

“I am Swordsman One.”

Beside him, caught up in the moment, his companion joined in:

“And I am Swordsman Two.”

Enkrid swallowed more blood to deliver the punchline:

“Together, we are just a pair of swordsmen.”

He couldn’t pass up the chance to insult the enemy, even in this state.

“…You are completely out of your mind.”

Even Drmul’s voice flickered with genuine shock. For a fleeting second, he almost sounded like a man again.