Chapter 751

Chapter 751

“So you’re telling me you’ve developed five distinct blade forms, and every single one provides a gateway to achieving knighthood?”

Rem provided a blunt recap of the concepts Enkrid had been detailing tirelessly over the last several days. Upon hearing this, Enkrid’s gaze sharpened, his eyes widening in a look of genuine astonishment that bordered on shock.

“What’s with that expression?” Rem snapped, feeling a prickle of irritation.

“You usually struggle so much when I’m explaining the details, yet you have a strange knack for capturing the essence in a summary,” Enkrid admitted, his eyes still wide. At this point, Rem was convinced the man was being difficult on purpose. He scowled deeply.

“Struggle? If there’s a problem, it’s with the teacher, not the student. And would you quit staring at me like a startled insect?”

“I’m simply that impressed.”

Rem’s scowl shifted into a lopsided, predatory grin—the look of a wild animal. Without warning, he unleashed his axe.

The draw was so rapid it was practically invisible to the eye. His footwork was deliberately syncopated, creating a jagged, unpredictable strike that defied regular timing. It wasn’t a standard cadence; it was a rhythmic disruption meant to catch an opponent off guard.

Enkrid didn’t miss a beat. His own blade was already unsheathed and in motion, moving with a fluid grace. He executed a diagonal upward parry, meeting the axe’s trajectory perfectly.

Clang!

The collision of steel, driven by immense physical power, sent a violent gust of wind howling outward from the point of impact.

Snap—!

Enkrid’s deep green mantle fluttered wildly in the wake of the shockwave. This wasn’t a lethal duel, merely a practical display of skill.

Once the weapons parted, Rem spoke with a forced calmness.

“That was the point I was making, wasn’t it?”

Internally, he felt a flicker of genuine respect. That sudden, high-speed ambush had been intercepted with clinical precision. He could no longer afford to view this man as an inferior.

The warrior standing before him had neutralized his axe with effortless control. Had Enkrid simply dodged, Rem would have found it unremarkable. But he hadn’t. Despite beginning his motion after Rem, Enkrid had matched the axe’s velocity perfectly.

They hadn’t choreographed this exchange, yet their physical output was entirely synchronized. To Rem, this suggested that Enkrid was holding a significant amount of power in reserve. Of course, Rem was capable of more brutal, rapid strikes, but the sheer scale of Enkrid’s evolution was staggering—he was a completely different fighter than he had been.

Dismissing the thought, Rem let out a sharp snort.

“Correct,” Enkrid replied briefly.

In that fleeting exchange, Rem had discarded all feints, channeling his entire being into a singular, focused blow. Enkrid had read that intent with total clarity. It was a movement that moved too fast for conscious thought. It wasn’t just a broken rhythm; it was a total rejection of the concept of timing. It was a mental refinement performed through pure reflex. Labeling such a feat as mere “prodigy” felt like an insult to the work put in.

“Let us see the heavy blade form, brother,” Audin broke in. The period of theoretical lecturing had ended. It had all commenced with the premise that “Wavebreaker is rooted in the foundations of classical combat.”

Throughout the lessons, Lua Gharne had been breathless with wonder, her expression one of constant, wide-eyed fascination.

“I want to see it! What comes next? So that’s how the tactical application works… I suspected as much, but seeing it laid out is something else,” she had exclaimed repeatedly.

Of the five styles—the righteous, the heavy, the deceptive, the swift, and the soft—each served as a specialized path. They had already witnessed the Wavebreaker, the traditional forms, the Flash Blade, and the Sword of Chance. Only the heavy strike remained a mystery.

The heavy form was not something to be shown casually. It couldn’t be simulated within a mental palace, as that space was only suitable for maneuvers one could already anticipate. An undisclosed, high-impact technique required a physical reality.

Audin was naturally captivated by the mechanics of how Enkrid would focus such destructive force into a single point. He knew Enkrid had synthesized the martial traditions of Balafia with the heavy sword techniques of the Zaun style.

Pell and Rophod looked on, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Their traveling party had gradually expanded to nine members.

“I intended to demonstrate it regardless,” Enkrid said, shifting his focus toward a massive shape looming in the distance.

A Cyclops—a towering, one-eyed titan. Though it carried no weapons, its bare hands were capable of rending iron as if it were soft dough. In a civilized city, the sight of such a beast would trigger a panicked evacuation and constant sirens.

As they ventured closer to the southern demonic territories, encounters with such formidable monsters were becoming a certainty. Perhaps they had already cleared out the lesser ghouls and predators, leaving only this apex hunter. Or perhaps it was merely fate.

To Enkrid, the reason didn’t matter. He had been searching for a worthy opponent anyway; the fact that one had appeared saved him the trouble of a hunt. It was the ideal specimen for testing his lethal technique.

As the giant drew near, the chatter died away. Enkrid walked forward to meet the threat.

“Observe,” he said.

Even with the monstrosity closing the gap, his demeanor remained icy and composed. The Cyclops possessed arms so elongated they nearly grazed the dirt, and its thighs were broader than a grown man’s torso. When it lurched forward, the backs of its massive hands scraped against the earth.

Scritch… grate…

The creature’s fingers left deep furrows in the compacted soil despite barely touching it. Its hide was clearly a dense, armor-like layer of muscle and skin.

“This should be interesting,” Lua Gharne remarked, snacking on a dried larva as she sat down to watch the show. Pell and Rophod, having recently earned their spurs and feeling a fresh surge of ambition, fanned out to either side of Enkrid to ensure they didn’t miss a single detail.

Both men gripped their weapons and tightened their focus until it burned. Their intense stares spoke of their dedication.

The Cyclops fixed its singular, massive eye on Enkrid. It didn’t waste energy on a roar; it was a creature that preferred the visceral sensation of tearing flesh apart. Monsters, like men, had their own distinct temperaments.

Enkrid continued his advance, showing neither doubt nor trepidation. From the monster’s perspective, it must have looked like a suicidal gesture—a small morsel walking directly into its grasp.

Thump! The Cyclops planted its feet, shifting its weight as its back muscles coiled like springs. Then, its massive hands lashed out with a speed that defied its size. Two hooked appendages swept inward—one targeting the midsection, the other aiming for the legs.

It was a calculated move. Enkrid analyzed the creature’s behavior with a detached, calm mind. It wasn’t swinging wildly at the head; it was hunting with practiced efficiency. This was the hallmark of an elder monster—they possessed the capacity to learn from their kills.

This was a principle verified by the Imperial Knight Valphir Valmung. It wasn’t mere conjecture; it was a lethal reality.

Enkrid bypassed the crushing reach by lunging forward, moving even faster than the incoming strike. He flooded his physical frame with his Will, sliding deep into the giant’s guard. He was now within the reach of a beast three times his stature.

The Cyclops unhinged its jaw, revealing rows of jagged, brick-sized teeth. It lunged down, intent on snapping his head off in a single bite.

Hwaak—! The monster’s teeth slammed shut with a sickening crack, just as the stench of its breath reached him. In that exact heartbeat, Enkrid’s body began to rotate.

Using his left foot as a pivot, he spun with the violence of a cyclone. His mantle snapped taut against his frame. To the Cyclops, his dark hair became a blurring shroud. Enkrid gathered every ounce of his mental energy, compressing it into a singular point before letting it expand and refocus.

Rotation.

Muscular strength alone had a ceiling. To achieve true devastation, one had to look beyond the physical. If one wished to shatter a mountain with a single blow, conventional force was insufficient.

He synthesized every scrap of knowledge, every hour of training, and every battle he had survived. His journey of creating these styles had granted him a fresh perspective.

One strike is all I require.

With his left foot serving as the stationary axis, he twisted like a coiled serpent. He engaged and then released every muscle group in his body, synchronizing the release with a concentrated burst from his dantian.

Only what my physical vessel can endure.

With his near-limitless reservoir of Will, overcharging the strike would result in his own muscles being shredded. Experience had taught him the cost of such power.

The torque originated at his toes, surged through his legs, twisted his torso, converted into raw kinetic energy, and finally erupted through his blade. The steel bit deep into the giant’s chest.

“A perfect severance.”

The sensation was clear, even in the blur of the moment. Though his weapon, Dawnforge, lacked the ethereal sharpness of Penna, it carved through the monster’s hide as if it were soft clay. There was almost no friction. The Cyclops, famed for skin as hard as stone, offered less resistance than a practice target beneath Aitri’s holy silver blade.

Having completed the rotational cut, Enkrid danced away to the side. To those watching, it looked as though the sword had simply exploded out of the monster’s torso an instant after the giant’s arms had crossed.

Dark blood, viscera, and gray matter erupted from the line carved by the steel. In a single motion, the nightmare was over.

In these southern lands, this particular Cyclops was known as the Wandering Demon. It bore the title of “demon” despite being a beast, primarily due to its terrifying strength and the mountain of corpses it had left behind. Unlike monsters that guarded a specific lair, wandering predators were notoriously difficult to track and eliminate. It had likely survived this long purely by avoiding the organized knight orders.

Enkrid cleaned his blade and walked away from the vertical ruin of the beast. A few droplets of dark blood touched his cloak, but the fabric absorbed them instantly, remaining pristine.

A sentient mantle. A responsive blade. Enkrid felt the connection vividly.

You answered my call, didn’t you?

He spoke silently to the weapon. He had spent hours caring for it, oiling the steel and feeling its weight, and though it had once felt like a cold tool, it now resonated in perfect unison with his intent. It felt like fighting alongside a comrade who knew his mind.

This was the true nature of an engraved weapon: the act of carving a piece of one’s soul into the metal.

“Brother, you named that the Vortex, didn’t you?” Audin inquired.

Those with the necessary skill recognized the hidden complexity within that single blow. It was a strike wrung from the entire body, like a sapling bent to its limit and suddenly released. Or like a chariot moving at full tilt while a bow is fired at point-blank range. At that distance, the transfer of momentum is absolute.

Audin’s eyes were alight. The technique shared the spirit of Balafian combat but had been evolved into something far more potent.

“That was a masterclass,” Audin noted, stepping forward to examine the remains. The destructive path of the vortex was undeniable. The wound was jagged and much wider than the physical blade, the flesh literally torn apart by the wake of the strike. It wasn’t just the steel that had cut; it was the Will itself.

Audin wondered if holy power could replicate such a feat. What would it take to transcend mere imitation and achieve that level of raw force?

He wasn’t the only one deep in thought. Ragna was already mentally deconstructing the footwork through pure instinct. Rem, too, was silent, his mind racing. Even during their time with the Border Guard, they had been students of the blade, but their new environment had fundamentally shifted their perspective.

With this shift came a deeper level of insight. It was a season for profound growth in technique and philosophy. Enkrid shared his discoveries, and even the prideful Rem did not hesitate to learn. In turn, Enkrid found himself learning from the way his companions interpreted his teachings.

It was a rare moment of collective evolution.

“I believe it should be in this vicinity,” Rophod noted as they continued their trek.

The group looked toward him. After four days of heading south, Rophod had managed to verify several rumors. They had located a localized demonic zone that had long been whispered about—a place similar to the Gray Forest near Oara. While rare, such pockets were not unheard of this close to the true southern demon lands.

A scholar once remarked that approaching the southern demon zone was like sailing through a chain of a hundred islands. Though Enkrid had seen the ocean and understood the metaphor, the reality was now setting in. For every massive demon territory, there were a hundred smaller, corrupted zones surrounding it.

“If there really are a hundred, do you intend to purge every single one?” Rem asked.

Enkrid’s voice was steady and full of conviction.

“Every last one.”

It wasn’t a boast; it was a simple statement of purpose. Rem nodded. That was exactly the answer he expected from his captain. If the Cyclops hadn’t crossed their path today, Enkrid would have hunted it down anyway. He wouldn’t let a “demon” pass by unaddressed.

“Over there,” Jaxon said, pointing ahead. Shinar gave a silent nod of confirmation. Her senses were the sharpest among them, guided by a strange, unerring intuition.

Ahead of them lay a woodland choked with foliage of a deep, sickly brown. It wasn’t the ash-colored Gray Forest, but the hue was no less disturbing.

“Everything in there looks inedible,” Lua Gharne said, her cheeks puffing in distaste.

Even from the perimeter, Enkrid could see the ground teeming with movement. Things that resembled worms but weren’t, and bloated, rounded shapes scurried through the undergrowth. The entire ecosystem had been warped by the demonic influence. Even the insects had been fundamentally changed.

A foul breeze wafted from the trees, carrying the heavy scent of rot and stagnation.

“I’ve heard this place is infested with parasitic entities. They say if you drop your guard for a moment, even a seasoned warrior could be overtaken…”

As Rophod spoke, a figure armed with a sword staggered out from the tree line. One side of the man’s face was etched with pulsing brown veins, and his eyes had rolled back to reveal only the pallid whites.

Rophod corrected himself. “Well, it seems someone has already been overtaken.”

The man was clearly no longer human. Rem didn’t waste a second. He let fly a handaxe, the weapon whistling through the air as it aimed for the possessed man’s skull.

Clang!

The figure hoisted a heavy greatsword, parrying the axe with a clumsy but powerful diagonal block. Enkrid, watching closely, gave a command.

“Do not kill him.”

“Why not?” Rem asked, looking back. He saw nothing in the creature worth saving.

“I recognize that man,” Enkrid replied.

It was true. The man’s name was Roman, a warrior who had been on the cusp of knighthood. He was supposed to be stationed in Oara, yet here he was, lost to the corruption.

“Should I just take his legs then?” Rem offered.

“No. Simply immobilize him.”

To a normal fighter, restraining a possessed quasi-knight would be an impossible order. Roman swung his massive blade, and the air before him compressed and shattered with a thunderous, heavy boom.