Chapter 888

Chapter 888

Enkrid steadied his lungs with a quiet breath and began to circulate his blade. He maintained a seamless rhythm, knowing that any pause would be fatal. His adversaries consisted of four knights, each possessing a strength far beyond the gryphon riders or the two warriors he had cut down during his journey here.

Up to this point, his survival depended on a singular concept.

‘Extinguishing the sparks.’

He moved to intercept their strikes before they even gained momentum. While perfect execution was the goal, failure was acceptable as long as he transitioned instantly to the next defensive maneuver.

‘Instantaneous resolution.’

Should his attempt to snuff the attack fail, leaving him to face hurtling steel or bared talons, he simply shifted to a direct block. He kept his footwork nimble, his sword active, and channeled his Will at a consistent, manageable intensity. It wasn’t a burden; it was a routine he had refined through endless hours of practice.

In truth, this was less taxing than sparring against Rem, Ragna, or Audin.

‘A battle of attrition.’

This was where Enkrid truly shone. He possessed Uske, a reservoir of Will that seemed to have no bottom.

Still, there had been flashes of peril that could only be described as life-threatening. Before Enkrid had joined the fray, Jaxon had navigated dozens of lethal variables to stay alive. Enkrid was performing a similar feat now.

In a sea of countless choices, he had to pick one. If that choice proved wrong, he immediately pivoted to the next response. It was a cycle of parrying, counter-striking, and repositioning.

Using Dawn, he deflected a fur-covered fist that threatened to shred his skin with a mere touch. In the same motion, he brought his steel down to meet a shield aiming for his midsection from the rear.

His cognitive processes were refined to a razor edge. His mental focus intensified until it felt as though his very brain might liquefy under the heat.

In that state, Enkrid’s mind bifurcated.

‘Strategy.’

One side of his consciousness calculated the broader flow and the moves that would follow. The other side acted on pure instinct to survive the immediate, lethal threats pressing against him.

He cycled through these states repeatedly. It was sufficient.

Even with the benefit of Uske, he might have eventually been overwhelmed, but he was not fighting in isolation. As Enkrid held his ground, Jaxon was executing his own role in the shadows.

“But how?”

“Dammit!”

The voices of their enemies clashed. The knights were consumed by the frantic need to parry and evade. They couldn’t fully comprehend the shifts in the battle, but the mounting evidence told the story.

“How did he break through?”

The question came from the knight who utilized twin shields as gauntlets. He was a man convinced that his defense was an impenetrable fortress of steel and resolve.

Now, a blade was lodged firmly in his chest. Blood coated the translucent metal, revealing its jagged form—a sword that had been snapped in half. The broken state of the weapon testified to the sheer violence required to reach its mark.

“Not even the raw power of beasts could crack this.”

The knight spoke through a torrent of blood, his tone filled with genuine bewilderment. He truly could not grasp how armor that had withstood monsters had been breached.

Jaxon had sustained a significant gash along his flank. He wasn’t hemorrhaging, having already constricted his muscles to stem the flow. The wound was a souvenir from the shield’s edge; a fraction of a second slower, and he would have been inspecting his own internal organs.

Regardless, Jaxon felt entirely capable of repeating the feat.

“A fist might fail against it, but an awl pierces through,” Jaxon remarked. The logic was elementary, though the execution was anything but.

“You evaded my strike, found the narrowest slit, and drove it home?”

“It’s simpler than navigating a labyrinth while blind and deaf.”

That was how his mentor had trained him. As he spoke, Jaxon glanced at the shard of the Carmen Collection—now little more than a macabre decoration in his enemy’s heart. The weapon had fulfilled its destiny. It was time to let go.

Offering these final words was a gesture of respect—a final exchange for a dying warrior. Even in a man like Jaxon, flashes of honor and knightly conduct remained.

“Uuuaargh!”

Barik erupted with a feral cry. The struggle persisted.

“Come on, damn you!”

Longarm’s voice joined the roar. Meanwhile, Knight Barod sank slowly to the earth. Blood traced the path of the broken steel buried within him as the spark of life left his eyes. Some men fought death until the very end, but once the outcome was certain, Barod’s spirit simply let go.

The entire engagement had been a desperate scramble for survival.

“You truly believe you’ll walk away from this?”

Pustis hissed, his gaze burning with hatred as he raised his flail.

Enkrid once again drew the focus of everyone present.

Boom!

He drove his left foot into the dirt and leveled his weapon. The azure radiance of Dawn captivated the onlookers.

“Remain focused, knights of the South. If you slip, you’ll find your end on my blade.”

It was a cold reminder not to lose track of him while worrying about Jaxon. Enkrid had lost a piece of his shoulder plating and bore a deep gash there. Despite this, his movements remained fluid and unhindered.

The minor cuts on his face were irrelevant.

The moment the warning was issued, the violence resumed. Enkrid served as the anvil, and Jaxon acted as the hidden hammer. The crucial factor was that Enkrid’s defense remained unbroken.

Thud.

Jaxon had done what was required of him.

“Y-you… bastard.”

Longarm was the next to fall. In his final moments, he saw his life flash before him—the times he had betrayed his brother for trinkets and stolen his friend’s wife.

‘I must survive.’

He was a predator driven by a fierce will to live. Longarm had braced himself for an ambush, but Jaxon chose a different path. Despite a wounded left arm, Jaxon drew a stiletto and engaged him head-on.

Interestingly, while Jaxon might have struggled in the past, he now possessed the strength to meet such a foe directly.

Seeing Jaxon’s bold approach caused Longarm’s resolve to flicker. The memory of the fallen Barod weighed on him. Jaxon manipulated his focus with sharp whistling sounds before darting in to open the back of his neck with a short blade.

The whistling made Longarm dread a projectile that never came. Had he remained composed, the duel might have gone differently, but the gap between their wills had already decided the victor.

One was unshakable; the other was trembling. Longarm had been defeated by spirit rather than just technique.

Pustis’s face turned a ghostly shade as he stared into the abyss of his own demise. Yet, he could not flee.

If he retreated, his commander would be left vulnerable. The warrior before him was becoming increasingly aggressive, shifting from pure defense to a lethal offensive.

‘He isn’t like the High Pontiff.’

His power was of a different nature than the High Pontiff’s, yet he was a monster in his own right.

“Where did people like you crawl out from?”

They hadn’t earned their reputation as lunatics by accident.

“Pustis, the world is shifting into a new age. Old titles will soon mean nothing.”

He remembered the High Pontiff’s words during the unveiling of the new knightly order. This was a force intended to surpass the legendary Rihinstetten knights.

But had the prestige of the established orders truly withered?

“No. It’s simply that we grew more powerful,” the High Pontiff had claimed. “The day I stand atop the entire continent is nearly here.”

It was a grand ambition.

Pustis’s thoughts began to splinter. He couldn’t maintain a coherent string of logic.

That was the natural consequence of having two daggers buried in a cross pattern through his heart. Pustis let his weapon fall, dropped to his knees, and lowered his head.

In his final seconds, his thoughts drifted to the mother he had left behind.

‘Mother.’

He hoped she would find peace. It was a simple, human wish.

“You weren’t at your peak, were you?”

Only Barik remained. The ursine beastman addressed Enkrid, struggling to process how he had been bested even after pushing past his own limits.

‘This was the moment I was supposed to win.’

Avoiding the truth wouldn’t change it. He chose to face it instead.

“I’m a bit weary from the road,” Enkrid admitted.

He was indeed exhausted from days spent on Odd-Eye’s back.

“I am Barik of the Mud Order of Knights.”

He took a combative stance, his fists ready. He wished to die as a warrior. Enkrid respected that.

“Stay out of this, Jaxon.”

“I don’t have the energy left to interfere anyway.”

Enkrid and Barik squared off. A freezing gust swept through the clearing, carrying the metallic scent of fresh blood.

The soil beneath them had turned a dark, bruised color from the gore it had drunk. Despite the carnage, the day was clear. The sun sat at its peak, casting no shadows that would favor one over the other.

There was no tentative probing of defenses. Barik knew exactly what his opponent was capable of.

‘Everything I have.’

He didn’t focus on Enkrid; he focused on the perfection of his own technique.

Barik lunged, turning his massive frame into a battering ram. If he could close the distance, he could crush his opponent’s skeleton. He planned to shatter his legs, snap his arms, and drive his skull into Enkrid’s chest.

Enkrid brought Dawn down in a vertical arc aimed at Barik’s head.

Clang!

A metallic guard intercepted the blade. Seizing the moment, Barik used his back muscles to unsheathe a hidden knife from the furs on his spine—his specialized killing art.

The sword strike was neutralized. Barik reached out to pull his opponent into a crushing embrace.

Enkrid had no room to retreat. Instead, he released his grip on his sword, gathered every ounce of Will in his body, and triggered a Point Explosion through his fist. Pivoting on his left foot, he channeled the entirety of his momentum into the strike.

‘The secret is keeping the force contained.’

The technique was known as Holy Penetration.

It was designed for a sword, but Enkrid hadn’t mastered that yet. However, he had practiced the unarmed version thousands of times, inspired by Audin and refined by the visions provided by the ferryman.

‘How to exert true weight against a massive foe.’

He had pondered this since the dream. Was there more to it than just physical weight?

Yes. Penetration—injecting Will into the target and letting it detonate from within.

Enkrid’s fist connected with Barik’s jaw. Barik intended to tank the blow. He believed his natural durability would see him through.

But the Will in Enkrid’s fist surged through the bone, shredded muscle, incinerated nerves, and reduced the beastman’s brain to a pulp.

Barik’s mistake was relying on his physical toughness rather than using his own Will to shield himself. The consequences of their choices were absolute.

Gurgle.

Pinkish froth and dark clots leaked from Barik’s nose and mouth.

Enkrid caught the massive body as it slumped forward and lowered himself to one knee.

After fending off four knights and delivering such a taxing final strike, his strength temporarily evaporated. As he knelt to recover his breath, a hand reached around the corpse’s side.

“Is it heavy, wearing him like a cloak?”

“You think that’s funny?” Enkrid grunted.

“I’m being quite literal.”

It was a distraction from the exhaustion.

“Nnngh.”

Enkrid pushed Barik’s body aside. The corpse hit the dirt with a heavy thud, fluids leaking from its face. Jaxon collapsed a short distance away. In terms of pure exertion, Jaxon had pushed himself even further than Enkrid.

“Why are you here?” Jaxon finally asked.

Enkrid let out a short, tired laugh. Jaxon continued.

“Because of you, my lady won’t have to make the captain her next target.”

“So that’s what would have happened if you fell?”

“You had no idea?” Jaxon laughed.

The man, who rarely showed emotion, was wearing a broad, genuine smile.

Was it the relief of survival or the thrill of the victory? Perhaps both.

“Can you still walk?”

“Do I look like I’m full of energy?”

They were both spent.

“Where do you think the rest of their knights went? The ones who realize their main force is trapped by the ward will have a very obvious destination.”

The implication was clear.

“Odd-Eye!”

Enkrid forced his legs to work and stood up. He wasn’t finished yet.

He drew upon his seemingly endless Will. As his determination flared, a fresh wave of energy followed.

The winged steed descended from the sky.

“I’m heading out.”

“Go.”

With that, the commander, who stood like a green fortress against the horizon, took flight.

Jaxon finally allowed himself to breathe and shut his eyes. The toxins from Venom hadn’t fully cleared, and he had lost a lot of blood.

His head was swimming, and his limbs felt like lead. As he considered just staying down, he imagined he heard the voice of the barbarian.

“You’re done already, you pathetic stray cat?”

It was an infuriating voice, even if it was just in his head.

Jaxon forced himself upright.

“Phew.”

He calmed his racing heart and left his brush with death behind. He would continue toward the next day. And he wouldn’t be walking that path alone; he had other madmen by his side.

Would you like me to analyze the tactical evolution Enkrid shows in this fight compared to his earlier battles?