Chapter 731

Chapter 731

Dominion—an inherent capability possessed by those who command Will.

But what was its origin?

A predator exudes a murderous intent so potent that its prey is paralyzed by instinct. Beasts of the wild functioned much the same way, projecting a raw terror that overwhelmed sentient minds, mankind included. It required little imagination to picture a person collapsing, frozen and dying of fright before the sheer presence of a monster.

“Provided the creature has reached a certain threshold of power…”

They were masters of psychological warfare, and it was from that foundation that Dominion emerged. It was the art of shattering a foe’s spirit, subjugating them through pure dread. Recalling one’s first encounter with such pressure makes the concept easy to grasp: it mimics the sensation of a blade hovering at the throat—a heavy, breathless weight.

“If you follow the lineage of Will back to its beginning, the story is likely the same. Imperial scholars theorize that the pioneer knight awakened to Will while contemplating the source of a monster’s crushing aura… Ah, looks like another one wants a piece of me.”

Valphir’s lips curled into a jagged smirk.

Before they had set out, hadn’t Lynox commented on Valphir’s abrasive tendencies? Even Schmidt had delivered a long-winded lecture, clearly agitated by the prospect of the two of them traveling unaccompanied.

“I must return to the Empire regardless. A report is mandatory. The news of a legendary alchemist transforming into a horror, masquerading as a deity, and being put down—that is a monumental event.”

Schmidt’s departure was partly due to his mangled leg, which prevented him from matching the grueling stride of Enkrid and Valphir. However, his duty to inform the Empire was no minor errand. Despite his haste, Schmidt had hammered one point home to Valphir—

“Enkrid of the Border Guard is destined to be a cornerstone of the Empire.”

Enkrid himself didn’t subscribe to that notion. He had never expressed a desire to visit the Empire, nor had he shown even a spark of interest. He wondered why the man was so persistent.

“Me?” he had interjected during the speech.

“That is the extent of your worth,” Schmidt had countered.

Valphir had merely toyed with his ear, indifferent. Yet, that didn’t stop Schmidt from continuing his mothering. The social standing between them was undeniable: Valphir held the higher rank, while Schmidt occupied the rung below. Schmidt’s complaints about Valphir’s lack of decorum likely originated from moments exactly like this—

“It’s a ghoul.”

Valphir had a particular fondness for the sound of snapping bone.

Right in the middle of their trek, he kicked off the earth and blurred forward, seizing the ghoul’s limb and splintering it with a sharp crack. The creature hadn’t even finished its first movement. A few more horrors lunged from the shadows, but they were met with the same brutal efficiency. Arms and legs were shattered until the creatures lay twitching on the dirt, their skulls eventually ground into the soil beneath Valphir’s heel.

Nothing but the rhythmic sound of breaking and crushing filled the clearing.

“Slaying monsters just doesn’t provide that satisfying tactile feedback,” Valphir remarked.

He was a man who didn’t bother masking his impulses; he aired them out for the world to hear.

“The bones of a giant are the true prize. Snapping something that looks indestructible—that is a truly magnificent sound.”

Supposedly, when a giant’s skeletal structure gives way, it echoes like the collapse of a marble column. That admission alone was enough to prove Valphir was far from stable.

“So Dominion was born from mimicking the lethal aura of beasts… and Will was forged by witnessing their incomprehensible strength?”

Enkrid summarized the thought as they walked.

They navigated a parched trail bathed in warm light. Small tufts of emerald grass were beginning to emerge from the dust. Tiny blossoms dotted the landscape, but the path was clearly neglected—rough and unforgiving. It was a landscape of raw, unpolished nature. Jagged stones protruded from the earth, turning what appeared to be flat plains into a treacherous, uneven gauntlet.

They had traversed several mountain ridges, moving far beyond the territory of the Border Guard. Though there were no visible footprints and no fresh intelligence had been provided, Valphir led the way without a moment’s doubt.

“Some hold that view. Other academics—different schools of thought—argue the opposite.”

The Empire had successfully standardized the continent’s tongues and trade currency. At one point, it had been on a path to total conquest of the Central Continent, only to abruptly halt its expansion. The reason remained a mystery, which was why men like Crang remained so vigilant regarding the Empire’s every breath.

Enkrid offered up his own history in exchange. Reciprocity was a form of integrity, even if the trade wasn’t perfectly balanced. He spoke of Count Molsen and the shadow of Drmul. Eventually, the conversation drifted toward chimeras and the artificial production of warriors.

“Manufacturing knights? It doesn’t work that way. A knight is more akin to a master’s handmade creation. If you try to cast it in cheap bronze, it will simply fracture. True value only comes through grueling refinement and the touch of an artisan. You want to know the Imperial secret? Knights forge other knights.”

Valphir spoke with absolute certainty, offering no veils. He was remarkably open about the Empire’s philosophy on martial development. They cultivate many, and those who survive the process become the mentors for those who follow.

“A cycle.”

A self-sustaining mechanism that thrived on repetition. Enkrid absorbed this. Was it a stroke of fortune to hear this? It felt like it. He realized that upon his return to the Border Guard, he could implement these principles. A knight guides a knight. That fundamental truth took root in his mind.

“Do you consider the Empire to be a force of evil?”

“I cannot say.”

Enkrid refused to pass judgment on a place he had never seen. Valphir looked at him with a quiet sense of respect. He appreciated Enkrid’s pragmatism. However, he still felt the need to test the man’s capabilities more rigorously. Even with his vast experience, Valphir found it difficult to measure someone like Enkrid through simple observation.

With the mediocre, you could judge them by their gait. With the talented, you could read their instincts.

“But this one hides everything beneath the surface,” Valphir thought.

Similarly, Enkrid found Valphir’s true depth impossible to gauge. Both men understood through years of conflict that this was the mark of a true warrior. Comparing him to the patriarch of the Zaun family, Enkrid realized Valphir was every bit his equal. Valphir, in turn, saw that Enkrid was no delicate warrior raised in the safety of a palace garden.

“Some back in the Empire refer to the knights of the outer continent as ‘flower knights,’” Valphir said, laughing softly.

Enkrid navigated the treacherous rock formations without a single stumble. His movement was fluid, his weight shifting perfectly from his ankles through his core, maintaining a posture that allowed for a lethal strike in any direction at a moment’s notice. It looked effortless, but it was a style of movement that demanded constant, high-level readiness. It should have been exhausting, yet Enkrid remained as composed as a still pond.

“So your point is that without constant hardship, one becomes stagnant?”

“A student who grasps the whole picture from a single word,” Valphir remarked.

It wasn’t the type of praise Enkrid was used to, and it felt slightly out of place. While Enkrid was precise and careful with his footing, Valphir simply crushed the stones beneath him, carving his own path through the landscape.

“The world is a complex place, Enkrid of the Border Guard.”

“Did I ever claim otherwise?”

He hadn’t. Valphir nodded in concession. After several exchanges, he had come to realize that this man was not easily swayed or defeated in a battle of wits. So what remained? Valphir didn’t hide the fact that his fascination with Enkrid was reaching a peak.

As dusk settled, they located a small grotto to serve as shelter. They built a fire at the entrance, and lacking any cookware, they shared dry rations of jerky. Suddenly, Valphir broke the silence.

“Are you interested in learning a specific technique?”

This wasn’t an invitation to fight. It was a direct offer of knowledge. And Enkrid was not the type of man to let such an opportunity pass him by.

Valphir possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of combat.

“Don’t worry about perfect mastery right now—just understanding the mechanics is enough.”

The lessons focused on the art of the counter-response. He demonstrated how to shatter limbs or reverse grapples based entirely on the enemy’s weapon and footwork. Every motion was born from the dirt of a thousand battlefields. This wasn’t the polished swordsmanship of the Imperial court. In particular, his integration of grappling while maintaining a grip on the blade was something entirely foreign to the martial arts of Balafian.

The moves weren’t flashy, but they fundamentally shifted Enkrid’s perspective on combat. The more of these subtle tricks one mastered, the more lethal they became. Enkrid understood this perfectly, memorizing every nuance while soaked in the sweat of exertion.

His dedication was palpable. Seeing this, Valphir began to recount his history.

“I spent time with the Eli Mercenary Corps. Does that name reach your ears?”

They were locked in a clinch—wrists pinned, bodies coiled, Enkrid’s right leg hooked against Valphir’s left. Their limbs were a tangle, though their chests were pushed apart. Valphir carried a scent of dry earth, reminiscent of a long-sealed vault.

“Vaguely.”

It was a legendary unit from the era before the Mercenary King Anu dominated the landscape. Named for a man named Eli, though rumor had it that the three commanders serving under him were the true terrors of the field. Valphir had been one of those three.

“Are you more ancient than you appear?”

“When you tap into Will, the aging process slows. It is born of the spirit, but it floods the physical form with life.”

Valphir’s explanations often drifted between the academic and the visceral—simultaneously high-minded and brutally practical. A paradox, perhaps, but a functional one.

“The world is not a simple thing.”

A man cannot be understood by a single facet. Enkrid kept the lessons of Heskal close to his heart, accepting these truths without conflict. Was the Empire a villainous place? The answer remained the same. One cannot judge a path until they have walked it.

Snap. Thud!

A sharp twist of the wrist and a sudden shift in weight—it seemed as though Valphir was about to take his legs out, but instead, he let go and stepped back.

“This is where I thrive. There is no need to force a close-range struggle if it doesn’t serve you.”

Valphir tapped the weapon at his side. A heavy, angular mace hung there, a silent statement of intent.

“Because his primary weapon is a mace, his goal was always to create an opening at a specific distance.”

Once the motive is clear, the technique becomes transparent.

“That is the heart of observational combat.”

The deeper your understanding of the adversary, the more predictable they become. This was why honing one’s perception was the highest priority. Naturally, there were those who would use that very logic to deceive you. Regardless, knowledge was the ultimate advantage.

That was likely why Valphir was teaching him—he was simultaneously dissecting Enkrid, learning his tendencies and his strengths. Yet, to Valphir’s surprise, Enkrid possessed a quality that made him difficult to pin down.

“Sejunghwanqueyu, a soul not bound by the Five.”

Valphir reached a final thought: The more I study this man, the less I truly understand him.

After three days of shared movement and dialogue, they arrived at their destination. It was a wide, hollowed-out basin nestled in the mountains. The vegetation was sparse, consisting only of stunted grass that gave the area a haunted look. The surrounding peaks acted as a barrier to the sun, leaving the basin in a perpetual, chilly shadow.

A man stood in the center of the clearing, a longsword in his hand. Scars bisected his lips and ran through his brows. Even without the marks of battle, his features were harsh and cruel. His right arm was visibly more muscular than his left—a sign of a lifetime dedicated to the blade. Despite his life as a runaway, he didn’t look malnourished or desperate.

“He’s been living comfortably in exile,” was the immediate observation.

“You bastards… you just don’t know when to quit, do you?” the man spat.

Valphir gave a wide, predatory grin.

“I give you my word—”

What he said next caught Enkrid completely off guard.

“If you can take down the man standing beside me, you can walk away. Gelt.”

This man—Gelt—was a former Imperial knight, now a fugitive leading a pack of bandits.

“You mentioned wanting to see the swordsmanship of the Empire, didn’t you? I believe I’ve strained my ankle, so I’m in no condition to duel.”

It was a transparent, laughable lie, but Enkrid stepped into the role.

“Then find a place to sit.”

Crunch. Crunch.

He moved toward the center of the basin, his boots pressing into the damp, mossy turf.

“And who are you? Another Imperial dog?” the man asked from his perch on a rock.

Gelt was a man who had taken up the sword for the simple pleasure of cutting flesh. He didn’t seek the challenge of an equal; he lived for the sound of the defenseless pleading for mercy. Valphir had shared this during their trek. There was no reason to doubt it; such cruelty was usually the plain truth.

Ssshing.

Enkrid unsheathed Three Iron, bringing the blade to a level guard as he locked eyes with Gelt.

“No.”

“A leftover from his mercenary days, then?”

“No.”

“Then what are you supposed to be?”

Gelt stood up, his sword held in a defensive slant that shielded his vitals, the tip angled toward the gray sky. Dominion—the invisible pressure—began to take a physical shape around him.

“That is the fundamental posture for projecting Dominion within the Empire,” Valphir called out from the sidelines.

The martial arts of the Empire were an evolution of everything known on the continent. One could sense the difference just by watching the man’s stance. Now, Enkrid was going to feel it.

He centered himself. He took in the shift of the wind, the dying light, the lengthening shadows, and the soft give of the moss under his feet. He pulled every detail of the world into his mind and prepared the Sword of Chance.