Chapter 734

Chapter 734

“Hold the line! Don’t let them through!” It was right as Enkrid came across the settlement. His keen ears caught the frantic shouting of humans nearby. He couldn’t just walk away. A mix of genuine interest and a strange, deep-seated feeling compelled him. In a way, this scene stirred memories of the place he once called home. Instead of forcing his way through the thick undergrowth, he decided it would be more efficient to scale a tree and navigate via the canopy. He was carrying a heavy rucksack and was armed with two blades—a significant weight—but scaling the timber was effortless for him. Enkrid dug his fingers into the bark of a massive trunk and hauled himself upward. Moving with more grace and speed than a rodent, he used only his limbs and digits to ascend. For a man of his martial standing, this was child’s play. Utilizing the sturdy limbs as platforms, he leaped toward the source of the commotion. He spanned the gap in a heartbeat. With every forceful kick against the wood, leaves showered down and local birds took flight in a frantic whirr of wings. “If they break the ranks, we’re finished! Stand your ground!” The shout was laced with pure terror. Enkrid located the origin of the noise and came to a halt. He balanced his right foot on a slender branch while his fingers gripped the wood firmly. He used his left toes to maintain a delicate equilibrium. His climb had been for the sake of speed, but it accidentally provided him with a perfect bird’s-eye view. Below him, more than a dozen men stood their ground, clutching crude polearms—basically shards of jagged metal lashed to wooden shafts. Behind this front line were people with slings, and further back, archers with their bows pulled taut. “A mess of a strategy.” Spears up front, projectiles in the center, and bows in the rear—it was a formation by definition only. In reality, they were just a terrified huddle. The spearmen were the worst off—there was far too much daylight between them. At this rate, the attackers would burst right through the gaps, leaving the lightly armed rear lines to be slaughtered by the creatures. Clearly, these were not professional soldiers. In total, there were perhaps fifty of them. Facing them was a pack of wild dog beastmen of roughly equal size, fanned out in a wide perimeter. “Pathetic.” It wasn’t just the headcount—their combat spirit seemed just as fragile. Even if a skirmish began, the humans technically had the upper hand; they wouldn’t all perish. “But lives will be lost.” If the situation turned sour, half of them could be wiped out. Many of the villagers had their teeth gritted in silent anticipation of death. This was especially true for the front line, whose hands shook as they gripped their spears. Enkrid finished his assessment. There was no reason to wait. He stepped off the limb and plummeted. The drop was high enough to shatter the bones of an ordinary man, but he was no ordinary man. As he descended, Enkrid pulled his Three-Iron Sword and slammed it into the trunk beside him. Screeeech— He used the blade to carve a furrow down the wood, slowing his descent and landing gracefully. The racket of his arrival instantly drew every eye. Both the human defenders and the predatory beasts shifted their gaze toward the newcomer. Ignoring the stares, Enkrid broke into a full-speed dash. The charge of a knight was typically too fast for the untrained eye to track, even when they weren’t pushing themselves. And Enkrid was far superior to a standard knight. Strong Horn—his unique synthesis of physical power and manifested Will—propelled him to the absolute peak of movement. To those watching, he simply evaporated. CRASH! With a sound like a physical explosion, he bolted forward, leaving no trail behind. Even at this velocity, Enkrid felt perfectly composed. He had enough mental clarity to note the bulging shoulder muscles and elongated teeth of the canine creatures as he zoomed past. He even had time for stray thoughts. This was a genuine battle. There was no need for the restraint required in training. The wild dog beastmen lived in a different temporal reality than Enkrid. Since he lacked a proper scabbard for the Three-Iron Sword, he had secured it in a makeshift sleeve held by leather cords. He unsheathed it with a single, violent upward arc. Snap— The sound of the leather breaking was audible only to him. Rip—Spray— The wet sound of parting skin and internal organs followed immediately. He opened one beast from its torso to its skull in a single motion, then transitioned into a series of fluid, rhythmic strikes. Thump—Crack—Crunch— The echoes of the hits trailed behind the actual movement of the steel. Enkrid’s weapon was cleaving through skulls faster than the sound of the impacts could travel. It looked like a master lumberjack splitting logs—but with far more surgical precision. Dark gore, shattered bone, and grey matter—unlikely to have held much intelligence—erupted like a macabre geyser. For the onlookers, the scene was incomprehensible. A man had dropped from the sky, vanished, and now the monsters were simply detonating into red mist. Some of the villagers lost their grip, their spears hitting the dirt. Others froze in place, paralyzed by the sight. Twang! A woman, overcome by nerves, fired an arrow far too early. “Ah…” A soft breath hitched. No words could capture the shock. Enkrid swung his heavy blade in a wide arc, clearing it of accumulated fat and tissue. Splat-splat. Grisly remnants hit the grass. Typically, these beasts were faster than humans in terms of reactions and sight. The presence of monster blood gave them unnatural speed. Regardless, they were no match for a knight. However, not every creature was built the same. Just as humans varied in talent, some monsters were more formidable than beasts, and the reverse was also true. He thought of Odd-Eye—the wild stallion that had conquered its monster blood through pure willpower. Among this pack, one individual was superior—bolder and swifter. It watched its pack mates die and launched itself forward, coiled muscles snapping it into the air. The human was occupied with the others. It was coming from his blind spot. Its movement was sophisticated. If it had lived longer, it might have become a legendary threat. Without even glancing back, Enkrid jerked his blade and pivoted his hips. Rotating on a single foot, he unleashed a level swing. Whoosh—Thud. The path of the Three-Iron Sword took the beast’s head clean off. The decapitated head tumbled through the air, its jaws still snapping instinctively. Enkrid’s steel was capable of felling the most terrifying monstrosities. Compared to those, this creature was an infant. When facing certain death, monsters usually choose one of two paths: they flee in terror or they charge in a blind frenzy. These did neither. After his first burst of speed, Enkrid hadn’t moved much, yet the beasts continued to fall in heaps. A few of them broke away—not to escape Enkrid, but to target the humans. They were attempting a pincer move on the villagers. In the middle of a swing, Enkrid drew one of Lynox’s throwing spears and brought it down. CLANG! The sound of the metal tip clearing the harness was sharp. He threw it in the same heartbeat. Whirr—BOOM! The projectile obliterated the flanking beast’s head and buried itself deep in the soil. A spray of bone and brain matter erupted like a grim celebration. The pack’s next move was strange. A portion fled. The rest stayed behind. Was this a defensive line? A stalling tactic? Though he relied on his gut, Enkrid had been schooled in military strategy in his past life. He had learned the art of war to stay alive. Now, some creatures were retreating while others threw themselves into the meat grinder. Despite standing over the remains of their kin, the darkness in their eyes showed no sign of fear. And Enkrid’s blade showed no sign of mercy. Cutting, lunging, and ripping upward—he turned the remaining attackers into piles of unrecognizable offal. Beast flesh was stringy and often tainted with toxins—useless for food. As the survivors vanished into the woods, Enkrid looked toward the horizon. His eyes tightened, then expanded. It was a reflexive adjustment powered by his Will, allowing him to see across vast distances. A spotted dog? No, it was a leopard. A creature three times the size of the others was watching them from afar. “Outside the immediate range.” A second detachment of monsters was waiting in the distance—too far to pursue effectively. He had let the first group go on purpose. Had he chased them, the villagers would have been overrun by the remaining beasts. They likely wouldn’t have survived the encounter. They had been shell-shocked by his arrival—too slow to act. The monsters, conversely, had been perfectly coordinated. There were too many red flags. The final group had fought specifically to buy time. The ones who retreated did so in a structured fashion, not in a panicked rout. “A deliberate rearguard sacrifice?” A detachment left to die so others can escape is a sophisticated military concept. Was it a fluke? No. His intuition told him otherwise. However, this wasn’t the moment for deep analysis. Enkrid wiped the remaining gore from his sword, then grabbed a clump of soil to scrub the metal. The intensity of the fight meant he’d have to grease the blade soon. He had some high-grade flax oil from Zaun in his pack. That would suffice. “Who are you supposed to be?” A voice finally broke the silence. Nobody in this remote place would have heard of “Enkrid of the Border Guard.” “Just a traveling sellsword,” he answered simply. “…We owe you our lives. Thank you.” The man holding the spear took a step forward, his body still tight with anxiety. It was expected. If a powerful warrior appeared unannounced at a hidden refugee camp, suspicion was the only logical response. In this era, the vulnerable lived in constant dread. A single moment of cruelty from someone strong could lead to their extinction. No one in the crowd even dared to blink. They were transfixed by the man who had just dismantled a pack of beasts single-handedly. Enkrid returned the Three-Iron Sword to its place and fixed the snapped cord. Under normal circumstances, he would have moved on immediately. But a feeling of unease lingered. To be more precise… He thought of the people he had failed to save before. One of those failures had been a village. And this settlement bore a striking resemblance to the place of his birth. “I think I’ll stay for a moment.” Considering the situation, if he departed now, these people would be dead by morning. That was the typical fate for those living off the grid. He had heard tales of secret subterranean cities founded by refugees. But more often, these places were found and erased—consumed by the wild. Some people even blamed these settlers for the rise of monster populations, claiming they served as breeding stock. Regardless, Enkrid couldn’t walk away. “I’ve done you a favor; would you mind if I rested here for a bit?” The request was met with silence at first. Even the man who spoke to him kept his spear pointed down but remained guarded. It was clear this community did not welcome strangers. The man with the heavy brows wavered, his mouth working before he finally gave a nod. “…Follow me.” He had clearly wrestled with the decision. Enkrid kept his hands away from his weapons and followed at a slow pace. He went out of his way to look non-threatening. There was no obvious gate or entrance to the town. These weren’t settlers building a future; they were survivors hiding from the present. Consequently, their homes were unconventional. They were pits carved into the earth, camouflaged with brush. The covers were reminiscent of primitive pit-houses. Dried Nightmare Berries were scattered across the roofs—the same trick Enkrid had used on his journey. “Clever application.” Nightmare Berries could cause necrosis if touched with bare skin. The mere scent was enough to cause a week of terrifying hallucinations. The name was well-earned. Predators and monsters loathed the smell. But to use them as a deterrent, one had to know the exact ratio of fruit to seed—just as these people did. “Harkventyo.” The guide offered his name. It sounded like it originated from the South. “Enkrid.” “A pleasure.” His voice didn’t sound particularly pleased, but he led Enkrid into a structure that was partially submerged in the ground. “A dugout…?” That seemed like an apt description.