Chapter 868

Chapter 868

A gryphon’s wings function as a shield.
“An ordinary arrow lacks the power to penetrate them. Furthermore, because their wingbeats never cease, finding an opening is impossible.”
This was the account provided by a member of the Red Cloak Order of Knights.
“A javelin propelled with strength at least rivaling a quasi-knight—that is the baseline we established.”
Following Cypress’s statement, the Red Cloak Order focused on their duties rather than their feelings. They spoke only what was essential, providing Enkrid with the precise answers he sought.
“No infantrymen were lost to their talons. However, there were those whose skulls were crushed by the boulders they dropped from above.”
That was the report from a foot soldier.
Enkrid tracked the remains of the fallen, mentally mapping the tactical failures they had suffered. He sketched the trajectory of the engagement, visualizing and deducing the patterns. It was an act of foresight, not just a post-mortem review.
“Superb.”
Lua Gharne expressed approval. To analyze and strategize before engaging—that was the doctrine Lua Gharne championed.
Aside from the hours dedicated to nourishment, rest, and drills, Enkrid interrogated everyone relentlessly.
Sleep provided sufficient recovery, so he spent his remaining energy pacing the camp, conducting a thorough census of experiences.
It was a fundamental truth that entering a fray with even a shred of knowledge was superior to charging in blind.
For this reason, he obsessively compiled intelligence before the onset of hostilities.
“Uh, I never saw them just dart away. They mostly hover and circle above. Do they stop? Yes, they do. They linger overhead and keep raining projectiles down.”
Even a soldier who struggled with words was useful. Enkrid also absorbed the teachings of the Mad Order of Knights—Rem included—with total clarity.
Compared to those chaotic days, the testimony of a clumsy soldier felt like a transparent textbook.
“Why does this feel so strangely irritating?”
Rem, observing the scene, grumbled under his breath. Enkrid glanced at Temares and gave a silent shake of his head. The Dragonkin, who had been on the verge of voicing Enkrid’s internal thoughts, bit back his words.
‘They aren’t built for agility.’
If they were, they wouldn’t be confined to this front; they would have circumvented the army to terrorize the rear long ago.
‘Even just severing the logistics…’
By simply harassing the supply lines a single day’s ride from this position, the Southern Front would have collapsed.
Even a knight’s prowess fades without rations.
‘These aren’t beasts meant for long-distance flight.’
Why avoid the easiest path? There was only one explanation: they lacked the stamina to do so.
Many had witnessed the gryphons climbing vertically the moment arrows or spears were loosed.
He synthesized the data, painting a mental image. He refined the outlines and added depth until the reality of the enemy was sharper than ever.
Ultimately, the input from the Red Cloak Order of Knights was invaluable. After reviewing their various failed attempts to bring the beasts down, he finally understood.
‘They excel at vertical movement, and their wings serve as built-in armor. They aren’t vulnerable on their flanks. If you strike from below, you have to contend with the claws of a lion.’
Certain members of the Red Cloak Order had identified the underbelly as a soft spot and launched javelins, only for the gryphons to swat them aside with their talons.
They weren’t mindless animals. Even without the intervention of the Mad Order, they would have eventually devised a solution.
“If the javelins failed, we discussed launching a trebuchet and riding the projectile ourselves to intercept them.”
Wait, were they actually fools?
That suggestion came from a knight. It was one thing to catapult oneself into the sky, but how did they intend to survive the descent?
“I figured if I performed a proper breakfall, I might pull it off.”
Enkrid respected the philosophy that results are unknown until tested. However, there are also scenarios where the outcome is as certain as being burned by touching white-hot metal. If one must grab the iron, one does it—but he decided this specific logic didn’t apply here.
“I’ve warned you repeatedly—if you fall, you’re dead.”
That was Aurelia’s interjection. This meant the plan had never received approval from the Order’s commanders, Aurelia included.
True to his nature, Enkrid exerted every effort to stay active today.
It was all part of a larger calculation. Based on the intelligence gathered, he reached a firm conclusion: this was not a conflict to be prolonged.
‘If the enemy feels even a hint of disadvantage, they will retreat.’
That would only waste time. He needed to shatter the enemy’s spirit in a single engagement, ensuring they would never dream of deploying gryphons again. That was Enkrid’s objective.
If the stalemate continued—
“The man beside me was pierced by a frozen spear and perished, but that’s the nature of war. Their magic scrolls are diverse.”
More of his own—soldiers, civilians—would fall. A man who steps onto a battlefield risks death; it’s a self-evident truth. Not everyone survives. It is a harsh principle—but if death can be avoided, isn’t it one’s duty to try?
The eyes of the reporting soldier were quivering. Enkrid noticed. He did not view the soldier’s potential sacrifice as a triviality.
The evening before the gryphons took flight, Cypress approached him in the fading light.
“Do you know the most effective strategy for our victory?”
“Using every soldier as a lure to strike the enemy’s center.”
Instead of the Order of Knights acting as the shield for the infantry, they would become the spearhead and charge.
They would fight while watching their own men be slaughtered by the beasts.
It was the second worst option, chosen only to avoid the ultimate disaster: holding the line until everyone collapsed from exhaustion.
Enkrid saw through the enemy’s scheme.
Weaken them with gryphons, then flood the field with infantry to drain them further, then finally engage. Using the blood of common soldiers to deplete the strength of the knights. It was a crude strategy, but a functional one.
“A style of warfare devoid of honor.”
When he spoke the truth plainly—
“I agree. Small-minded cowards,” Cypress replied with a booming laugh.

—

He hurled himself from Odd-Eye’s back. The wind whipped against his face. His cloak snapped tight against his frame, slicing through the air resistance.
‘Ignite.’
He prepared to unleash a strike that contained the entirety of his being.
His Will transformed into a rushing tide, surging forward. Just before the blade could swing, Enkrid reined it in, compressing the force.
‘Patience.’
Observing Edin Molsen had taught him the value of waiting and internal pressure. It was less like learning a new skill and more like refining an old instinct. During the journey, he had practiced this technique incessantly until he mastered it. Now was the moment of necessity.
As he plummeted from Odd-Eye, he performed a half-rotation. He channeled the momentum of the spin and lashed out with his sword. He timed it perfectly, meeting the tip of the enemy’s spear at the exact moment of impact.
The gale made it difficult to see, but through narrowed eyes, he saw the spearhead lunge upward.
Enkrid released the stored energy. His Will surged in obedience to his command. The strike, bolstered by the velocity of his fall and his own weight, slammed into the spear.
Boom!
Like a clap of thunder, the weapon’s shaft was knocked wide.
Time seemed to slow, revealing his opponent’s face. Within the helm that shielded the brow and jaw, the eyes were wide with shock.
The man surrendered his spear. It was a split-second decision; if he held on, his hands would have shattered or his arm would have been mangled. He discarded one tool and drew his sword with his free hand.
Enkrid, having deflected the spear with Dawn, used the residual momentum to flip his entire body once more.
Rotating in the air, Dawn’s edge flashed with a cold blue radiance. Carrying the full force of the spin, Dawn collided with the enemy’s blade.
Boom!
A second thunderous impact. Simultaneously, Simlak’s sword fractured into nine distinct segments, lashing out like a whip.
As expected, his armaments were magically enchanted. His spear, sword, and even his axe were infused with his Will.
The spear bore a charm to return to its wielder; the axe was laden with a fire that cauterized any wound it inflicted. Finally, the sword bore the name Segmentation.
At the user’s command, the blade would break into pieces, snaking around defenses to shred the target.
‘I’ve won!’
He had been stunned by the man’s suicidal leap from his mount, but victory was now his. Or so Simlak believed.
As the blade Enkrid had struck with Dawn shifted and tried to entwine his leg, Enkrid drew and intercepted it with Penna.
It was a weapon that had once snapped and been reforged in the fires of a fairy blacksmith.
“Ugh.”
The memory of that stoic fairy smith shouting in disbelief at the shattered Penna flashed through his mind.
Stray thoughts entered his hyper-focused state. Trivialities. He purged them immediately, and with the blade the fairy had crafted with absolute devotion, he neutralized the incoming strike.
Clang-clang-clang!
Sparks flew violently. Though it lacked formal enchantments, Penna was a masterpiece of the fairy folk. It had broken once; it would not be broken easily again. Enkrid’s boots finally made contact with the gryphon’s spine. This happened after two offensive strikes and a successful parry.
“You’re insane!”
Simlak was bolted into his saddle. He couldn’t stand, so he twisted his torso to glare at Enkrid.
“I appreciate the sentiment.”
As he spoke, his limbs never stopped moving. Simlak’s insult, Enkrid’s retort, and the blade cleaving Simlak’s skull appeared to occur in a single instant.
Crunch.
Dawn’s glowing edge split through the helmet and the bone beneath. Of Simlak’s three legendary weapons, the axe remained untouched. A corpse cannot fight.
Screeech!
Disturbed by the shifting weight, the gryphon let out a piercing cry. As Enkrid withdrew the sword from the fallen rider, the panicked beast thrashed wildly.
It was more unstable than standing on the deck of a ship in a storm. As Enkrid crouched low to maintain his center of gravity, another Gryphon Rider closed in from the flank.
“I appreciate you coming to me.”
Remaining low, Enkrid flooded his feet with Will, using the beast’s back as a platform to launch himself. As he leaped, he didn’t forget to retrieve Penna. Currently, Penna was tangled with the enemy’s segmented sword, making it look like a spiked club, but he didn’t need a traditional blade for his next move.
Thump, Crack.
Gwak.
The gryphon beneath him stopped moving and wailed. Its spine had snapped—it was now in a terminal descent. Enkrid transitioned directly onto the approaching rider.
The enemy had made the error of diving in, intending to use the gryphon’s beak to finish him.
“Damn it!”
The soldier frantically twisted, pulling a dagger to strike. Enkrid, however, was a knight. He performed maneuvers that defied common logic.
He returned Dawn to its sheath and caught the incoming dagger between two fingers. This opponent was merely a soldier prepared to be beast fodder if things went south—he was no knight.
“This is war. Don’t take it personally.”
With those words, Enkrid flicked the dagger aside and gripped the man’s throat, snapping it with a single hand. To an observer, it didn’t even look like a struggle; he simply touched the man and moved on.
Crack.
The soldier’s head lolled, and blood-flecked foam bubbled from his face. The wind instantly whipped the gore away.
The third target was not far off.
On solid ground, the gap would be negligible. But here, in the open air, jumping across required terrifying resolve. It was an altitude that triggered the most basic human fears.
Enkrid, however, had survived such heights many times before and felt no hesitation.
‘Heart of a Beast.’
The technique that allowed him to remain calm in the face of a lethal blade now enabled him to navigate the sky like a predator.
Enkrid leaped again. This time, the distance was significantly greater.
Crunch!
He kicked off the gryphon’s back with such power that the beast’s hide tore open as its skeleton failed.
Propelled by the dying creature, Enkrid flew like a bolt, landing on the third rider’s mount. The way he contorted his body to stick the landing was barely human. To his enemies, he appeared as a monster.
A knight is a walking disaster. The truth of that statement was being etched into their souls.
“Is there room for one more? It doesn’t matter. I’m already here.”
“Wha—what? How?”
The soldier was too stunned to speak. Enkrid formed a fist and delivered a heavy blow to the top of the man’s head.
Thud!
The force rattling through the helmet turned the soldier’s brain to pulp. His eyes rolled back as blood began to leak from them, only to be cleared by the rushing air.
Enkrid scanned for the next kill. Suddenly, a ball of fire streaked toward his face.
Fwoosh.
They had decided that hurling scrolls was safer than engaging him in person.
‘Magic has a flow.’
A spell cast by a living sorcerer can be manipulated, but a scroll’s output is static.
For Enkrid, intercepting scroll-based magic was simple.
He gripped the handle of the sheathed Dawn, saturating it with Will. He drew, executed a perfect vertical slash, and sheathed it again in a blur of motion.
Whoosh!
A vacuum of wind followed the blade. The fireball was bisected before it reached him, passing harmlessly to his sides before detonating.
Boom, Boom.
Amidst the explosions, the blue-eyed hunter moved toward his next prey.
“Retreat! Get out of here!”
Someone screamed. They weren’t a disciplined unit of knights, so they didn’t wait for a formal order. They were united by pure terror.
Every remaining rider yanked their reins, desperate to flee.
A few lost control in their panic. Their gryphons, annoyed by the frantic commands, thrashed and tilted sharply.
“No! Help me!”
One soldier’s foot slipped from his stirrup. As he dangled, his face ended up directly in front of his mount’s beak.
The gryphon didn’t hesitate, pecking through the man’s skull. Crunch! The wind scattered the remains instantly. Whatever wasn’t blown away was swallowed by the beast.
Enkrid calculated the gap and jumped once more.
This time, the target was too far. It looked impossible to reach. The soldier who had pulled away felt a momentary surge of relief.
The maniac is finally going to fall.
That hope was shattered.
Snap!
Behind Enkrid, his dark-green cloak billowed out, catching the air. He began to glide. In this manner, he reached the next rider.
“Good to meet you. I won’t bother with names.”
His words were a brief eulogy for a man forced into battle. His knee smashed into the soldier’s face.
Thud.
An eye was crushed into the socket before being forced out. Enkrid swung the makeshift mace that was Penna into the gryphon’s neck. With a sickening sound of tearing flesh and breaking bone, the beast’s head was nearly severed, and it began to fall. As Enkrid started to drop, he roared.
“Now!”
Fwak.
The Pegasus, trailing blue mist—Odd-Eye—swept beneath him perfectly.
Enkrid leaped from the falling carcass and landed firmly in the saddle. Odd-Eye caught the heavy impact without flinching. There were still enemies in the air. He didn’t plan on letting a single one escape. That was the singular purpose that had brought him into the sky.