Chapter 741

Chapter 741

The tactics of the beastmen shifted repeatedly. Initially, they struck every second day, then stretched the intervals to every third. Some nimble fox beastmen attempted a wide flanking maneuver, crouching in wait along the path to the lake, yet they could not bypass Enkrid’s heightened awareness. More importantly, every move they made fell within the parameters he had already calculated. If the beastmen were developing human-like guile, Enkrid simply adjusted his strategies to account for that evolution.

“How is it that you can anticipate their moves and prepare so perfectly?” Aitri inquired during a momentary lull.

Taking the opportunity, Enkrid decided to impart some wisdom to the youth. When Aitri asked for the direction of the east, Enkrid gestured toward the horizon of the sea and replied, “Over there.” Aitri watched him with rapt attention, his ears perked and his eyes wide, completely absorbed in the lesson.

“Even if it seems unnecessary now, it is vital to possess even a shred of power. That strength might one day serve as your weapon, or the final shield that preserves your life,” Enkrid remarked.

This traveler, who had arrived by mere chance, was clearly no common drifter; he was a man of exceptional depth. Enkrid’s words were rooted in the philosophies of Kraiss. He recalled how Kraiss, having narrowly evaded a brush with death, had once said that having the kind of physical build that draws a woman’s gaze was a worthy goal. Enkrid chose to omit that particular detail, deeming it irrelevant to the boy’s training.

“You won’t be expected to slaughter scores of beastmen immediately, but you should begin honing your physical form. When the body is active, the intellect sharpens in tandem,” Enkrid explained, gesturing to his temple.

He blended his own hard-won experience with the teachings of Kraiss to mentor the villagers. While he organized formation drills for the common folk, he provided Brunhilt with specific combat techniques and conditioning exercises. With Aitri, however, he focused on dialogue. To the boy, these talks felt like studying a restricted manual on the art of war.

“The goal isn’t to predict every single possibility,” Enkrid noted, “but to be ready for every outcome that is logically foreseeable.”

While some might find that distinction confusing, Aitri grasped it instantly, uttering a soft sound of realization. Kraiss had lived in a state of constant vigilance, and to soothe his nerves, he over-prepared for every scenario. Applying that logic to the current situation meant narrowing the defensive perimeter and consolidating resources. Usually, they would have struggled to protect the granaries and the lake road simultaneously, but now, such dispersion wasn’t required. By limiting their objectives and preparing thoroughly within those bounds, Enkrid implemented the Kraiss-style doctrine. He moved proactively, using his intellect rather than just reacting with his instincts.

As the villagers stood their ground with spears leveled, Enkrid observed from the canopy as they fought for their lives. They had even developed their own shouts of defiance, crying out that failure meant certain death. Enkrid hadn’t provided those slogans; they had grown from the villagers’ own desperation. He shouted instructions for them to rotate out when exhausted, ensuring the circle remained unbroken even if one person fell back to be treated by the non-combatants.

Two villagers who were proficient with bows remained at the heart of the formation. They had nearly been maimed by an owl beastman nights prior and had since volunteered for the central guard. One stout man kept a wary eye on the sky, knowing that if owls attacked at night, crows might strike by day. They weren’t trying to outthink the beastmen; they were simply committed to holding the line, and Enkrid’s training was manifesting in their success.

When the beastmen tried to exploit openings in the ranks, Brunhilt was there to seal the gap. His natural prowess was evident; his spear moved like a flash of light, piercing a wolf beastman through the mouth before it could even snap its jaws. His movements were fluid and economical, utilizing a quick pivot to drive his weapon deep. He leaped off the creature’s shoulders to retrieve his spear, landing with a grace that demonstrated perfect bodily control.

Watching them, Enkrid felt a pang in his chest. He remembered a time when he watched people die and wondered if things would be different if the weak had the means to defend themselves. Giving a beggar a coin only helps for a day, but teaching them to work sustains them for a lifetime. Even if he moved on, the beastmen would remain. The Ferryman’s mocking voice echoed in his mind, questioning if Enkrid could truly walk away knowing these people might eventually perish. Enkrid remained steadfast. He would provide them with a means of deterrence, establishing a boundary marked by the blood of their enemies, much like the great frontier cities. He couldn’t kill every beastman in existence, but he could give these people the power to survive on their own.

While most villagers didn’t see the long-term vision, Harkventyo seemed to understand, and Aitri had sensed it long ago. Others, like Brunhilt, were simply focused on the fight. Enkrid recalled the sight of a charred child and a dead mercenary from his past—memories that fueled his current resolve. Now, seeing the villagers successfully repel the attackers without a single casualty, he knew his efforts were enough.

From his vantage point, Enkrid turned his attention toward a specific shadow. His senses, which rivaled those of the greatest knights, had detected a malicious presence watching him for several days. It seemed a leader among the beastmen was waiting for him to depart. If humans had exceptional individuals like Aitri and Brunhilt, it stood to reason the beastmen had a strategist of their own.

Enkrid decided to eliminate the lynchpins of the beastman horde. These groups were like clusters of colonies, each led by a core individual. By removing those leaders, the threat would dissipate. He leaped through the trees with the speed of a predator, but as he reached a clearing, two leopard beastmen ambushed him. They had moved with such silence that he only sensed them at the last heartbeat.

His instincts flared. He dug his foot into the earth, stopping his momentum so violently that the ground shattered. As the leopards lunged with coordinated strikes, Enkrid didn’t retreat. He drew Three Iron, his blades tracing a lethal circle that looked like a shimmering halo in the midday sun. The sharpness of the meteoric iron and black gold did the work, slicing through the attackers as their own momentum carried them onto his edges. He didn’t even slow down, leaving the disemboweled leopards behind as he continued his hunt.

He knew he had to finish this quickly. Using a technique that combined his Will with his physical movement, he blurred through the forest. He navigated the dense woods without a single branch touching him, eventually coming face-to-face with a fox beastman. The creature chose to stand its ground rather than flee. Suddenly, over a hundred fox beastmen emerged from the shadows. Enkrid wondered if the ancient legends of knights learning from spirits were true, or if they had actually learned from the movements of such predators.

He thought of Valphir Valmung’s stories about humans learning fear from monsters. Perhaps now, the monsters were learning from humans. The fox beastman utilized hidden blades, but it was no match for Enkrid. His swords, Three Iron and Penna, moved through the fray like dancers in a ballroom where the carpet was made of dark blood.

When he finally returned to the village, the people looked at him with a mixture of terror and reverence. He was drenched in the black ichor of his enemies. Harkventyo quietly ordered water for him to wash. Enkrid knew the task wasn’t over; three primary threats remained. He continued his pattern: the villagers held the line while he hunted the leaders. He eventually slew a lightning-fast bear and a black dog that led a massive pack of hounds.

The final adversary was a tiger with a hide as hard as plate armor. Unlike the others, this one waited for him. Enkrid sensed the creature’s ambition—it dreamed of becoming a Beast King, ruling the Pen-Hanil Mountains and preying on humans and fairies alike. The tiger sought the rare ore protected by the village to fuel its transformation. If Enkrid hadn’t been there to intercept the other monsters, the village would have fallen long ago.

The tiger was a pinnacle of its kind, an exceptional being comparable to a human knight. As it tensed its muscles, Enkrid’s sixth sense alerted him. The tiger lunged with a speed that defied its size, its massive paw coming down as it simultaneously exhaled a blast of flame. The air grew heavy with pressure, turning the battlefield into a literal swamp of force. To counter it, Enkrid poured his entire Will into Three Iron, swinging his blade to meet the unexpected fire.