"That's different from the half-baked ones we've faced before. Did you block that knowing it?"
Rem said, but not in a scolding tone.
Jerix, as if wary of the newly arrived Rem, stopped his hand.
Given that it had even been given a name, it was probably not an ordinary monster. Meaning, it might even be capable of thought.
It was common knowledge that a ghoul's head was just for show, but the Demon Realm was not a place governed by common sense.
Taking advantage of the lull, or more precisely the tense standoff, Encrid took the time to carefully observe the ghoul named Jerix again.
One thing was certain. This monster was brutally strong.
Stronger than the fake Knights created by the Count who once commanded specters.
"Indeed."
Encrid replied.
He had already experienced it firsthand. This ghoul knew how to fight.
The 'half-baked' things Rem mentioned were those fake Knights.
Like broken toys stitched together with flesh and muscle.
"You blocked it knowing that?"
Rem asked again.
"It was manageable."
That was exactly it. In the past, he wouldn't have been able to withstand it, but now, it was just manageable.
That ghoul bastard was even wary of Oara.
For various reasons, his muscles were strained, and his joints creaked, but in the end, he hadn't been pierced by its claws.
Sure, his ribs ached from being kicked twice, but that was tolerable.
Should he thank Audin for that?
If not for the body conditioning technique, his ribs would have been broken.
And through countless battles, he had realized one thing: He could feel the movement of his Will in the moment of being hit.
Enduring was what mattered.
Upon reflection, he realized he could now handle the sword strikes of the Knight from the Aspen Royal Knights, whom he had once witnessed.
"Did you learn to be cocky from that lost fool?"
Rem chuckled as he spoke, thinking to himself.
Ah, that thing is really no joke.
This is different from the half-baked creations of the Count who controlled specters.
Those fakes had the strength of Knights but lacked any real skill.
What good is strength if the one wielding it is a fool? They were easy prey because of that.
But the monster in front of him was different.
These creatures fought each other to survive.
The fact that this ghoul bastard had developed such keen instincts and survived meant one thing: It had fought to the brink of death time and time again. Its abilities were forged through battle.
It wasn't a half-baked creature. Rem assessed the situation coolly.
'I can't kill it.'
Not right now. He would need sorcery. His current abilities alone weren't enough.
And this was after having dealt with five trolls hidden among the monsters.
Those bastards weren't ordinary either.
His left forearm was in pain, and his hip joint creaked.
He had blocked a stone axe with his left arm and taken a blow to his waist when he killed the third troll.
Small injuries from fighting five trolls.
As a result, his body was slightly off balance.
It wasn't life-threatening. A few days of rest and he'd be fine.
At most, a week.
Even traveling on foot wouldn't be a problem.
Fighting some dumb bandits would be fine too.
As long as he didn't get into any more intense battles. As long as he didn't face any more overpowered monsters.
But the problem was that there was one right in front of him now.
And yet, his Captain didn't seem to have any intention of retreating.
In fact, it seemed like he was preventing Knight Oara from stepping forward.
'This is too much for bad luck.'
Rem thought, scratching his head with the handle of his axe.
He had decided to go to west, accepting he'd face some misfortune, but this was over the top.
"What do you want?"
He asked, despite everything.
"To land a hit."
Came the immediate reply. Clearly, the decision was already made.
Well, that was typical. Encrid wasn't the type to hesitate.
He was the kind of madman who'd act first and then make his path the right one.
Rem found that entertaining.
That's why he stayed, wasn't it?
He had learned something from watching this man, and that's why he had decided not to return to the west just yet.
The ghoul wiggled its fingers as if it were making some kind of calculation.
A monster wielding the power of a Knight, based on its innate combat instincts.
Rem thought he might die.
"Let's do it."
But that didn't mean he had any intention of backing down.
There wasn't time to come up with a proper strategy, but Encrid had been waiting for Rem since the beginning.
All they needed was a single moment of opportunity.
Rem would create that opening.
Encrid believed that.
* * *
Ghouls don't normally think.
Their heads are, after all, just for show.
But the ghoul named Jerix could think, even if only simply.
That was the primary reason the current monster Jerix existed.
Using that ability to think, Jerix understood and assessed the situation.
Whether there were two or three of them blocking his way didn't matter.
They were weaker and slower than him.
But if he killed one of them, the other blade behind would come flying.
It was a sword he had encountered several times.
The ghoul thought.
All he had to do was stall for time and endure.
Then, the one who had pushed him into this situation would intervene.
That was the conclusion of his thought process.
The annoying blade approached again.
Jerix carelessly kicked away the axe blade aimed at his ankle and neatly blocked the sword.
That blade was infused with an irritating metal.
Monsters were typically weak to silver. Silver was, after all, a metal imbued with divine power.
But silver was also a soft metal, and crafting a proper silver sword was exceedingly difficult unless done by a master craftsman.
Moreover, a silver blade that wasn't blessed had no effect on his body.
However, the metal the opponent was wielding was filled with an ominous aura.
Of course, it was, since Aker's metal was mixed with True Silver.
Jerix thought as he dodged.
As long as he didn't get deeply cut or pierced, it wasn't a threat.
Whether it was a blade mixed with True Silver or a blessed weapon, if it didn't hit him, it didn't matter.
Jerix was confident in that.
There was no way he'd fall for such crude swordsmanship.
He knew that instinctively, having lived as a ghoul for so long.
He had already assessed his opponents' abilities.
The axe blade flew again with a swoosh.
Jerix moved faster than the blade and blocked it with his hardened hand.
Smack!
His toughened skin stopped the axe. But the opponent followed through with the strike.
Screech!
Metal ground against his skin, and chunks of hardened flesh flew off as the axe grated against him.
He wasn't cut or sliced, but some of his thick skin had been peeled off.
His outer skin acted like armor, so it worked. He had blocked it well.
Jerix blocked with his left hand and extended his right.
Clang!
That right hand was blocked by the other axe blade.
A few exchanges like that followed as he pulled and pushed his hand.
Jerix gauged his opponent's skill and confirmed it.
These two would never be able to kill him.
Thus, time was on his side.
There was no rush. All he had to do was slowly wear them down.
Even now, the ghoul was learning.
Just as he had learned by fleeing from the human who swung that terrifying blade, he was learning now.
This time, he learned how to buy time and slowly push them back.
Suppressing his urge to kill, he waited.
Time was on his side.
Of course, every creature eventually falls into the trap of their own assumptions.
"Aagh!"
A scream echoed. It was a human's.
Jerix's pupils contracted. His gaze snapped to where the scream had come from.
He saw a small female human clutching her shoulder and rolling on the ground. Blood was pouring from the wound.
The sweet smell of blood, the tender flesh.
The urge to kill surged. Hunger boiled up. But suppressing it and observing the situation, Jerix evolved.
On the outside, nothing had changed, but his inner self had transformed.
The ghoul's thought process accelerated rapidly in what could be called a moment of crisis. It advanced further.
At this rate, he might even be called a god of the Demon Realm.
And then.
"Now."
It was the moment he had briefly turned his gaze.
A blade that moved faster than a shadow became a long, sharp line and came slicing towards him. Its target was his wrists—there was no avoiding it.
It had happened in the instant his gaze had shifted. An axe blade aimed at both of his hands.
Why had his gaze shifted? Not because of the injured human. It was because he had seen a terrifying blade move right beside him.
The human pushing him back had taken a step.
That blade moved toward the human who smelled of sweet blood. No, more accurately, toward the Owlbear that was targeting the human.
Swoosh, thwack, splat.
It all happened in an instant.
Oara had leapt, swung her sword, and split the Owlbear vertically, spraying black blood everywhere.
Jerix saw this and reached out, twisting his wrist so that his palm faced the sky and grabbed the axe blade.
There was no longer any need to hold back his strength, so he extended his claws and gripped the axe blade.
Crack, crunch.
The axe blade cracked and shattered.
Jerix shattered the axe blade and kicked his left foot forward.
That forward kick was like Jerix's hidden trump card.
His foot moved three times faster than his hand.
Boom!
A thunderous sound exploded.
The owner of the axe he kicked flew backward.
Everything had been within Jerix's calculations.
It had all gone according to his plan as he dealt with the axes.
Jerix saw a light beyond his perception.
Something beyond calculation had appeared before him.
The light had already approached his face.
That pinpoint light, visible for just a moment, disappeared as quickly as it had come.
It had pierced through the space between his eyes, penetrating his head.
Jerix, unable to comprehend what had happened, had only one thought.
The terrifying blade that had been aiming for him.
It was like the blade he had faced before.
As his head was pierced, Jerix used the last of his strength to raise his claws and stab.
He didn't feel anything as this final act was purely instinctual.
His claws sank into flesh with a dull thud.
* * *
Up until now, his method had been to push his muscles to their absolute limits, but Roman's strike was a bit different.
'Every movement must carry Will.'
From the steps he took to the breaths he drew.
Since he couldn't become a Knight just yet, Roman poured his Will into everything in order to mimic a Knight's strike.
Encrid had watched and learned that method.
Will, often referred to as one's inner strength, could be sensed, but it wasn't something that could be used at will.
Then how had he used things like speed and the Giant's Strike?
'Everything is within me.'
If you imbued your resolve into it, you could use it.
When you took a step, it had to be as if you were risking your life. When you gripped your sword, it had to be with the same resolve.
Realizing it only took a moment, but mastering it would take much longer.
He repeated the process until his body caught up with his understanding.
Just as he could pour Will into his movements and attacks, he could pour it into every step and gesture.
Breaking down each movement, pouring Will into every action naturally simplified things.
Even three hundred days wouldn't be enough to master putting Will into every complex movement.
'Pierce.'
With resolve, he reached the moment to thrust his sword.
After countless failures, he had finally managed to put it into one move.
His footing was awkward. The hand gripping the sword felt off.
But from his foot planted on the ground to the tips of his fingers, Will flowed through him.
Everything around him blurred. It became difficult to perceive anything. He just moved in line with what he had set out to do.
Only focusing on pouring Will into every movement.
Encrid thrust his sword forward.
To be precise, he broke down the act of thrusting the sword into pieces, analyzed each movement through a sense of skill, and executed it with pinpoint focus.
If you asked him what made it different from usual, he wouldn't be able to answer.
But the Will he had poured into his entire body gave him a brief taste of omnipotence.
'Pierce.'
The enemy could not avoid it. That was how it felt. It seemed like the most natural outcome.
And indeed, it was.
The tip of Aker's sword pierced straight through Jerix's forehead.
Roman had said that doing this even once would leave him feeling empty and completely drained.
But not for Encrid.
Having experienced it several times already, he knew.
The loss of Will didn't leave him feeling hollow.
Instead, his entire body ached as if his muscles were tearing apart.
As Jerix died, he raised his claws one last time.
And then, a white shadow intervened in front of Encrid.
It was Dunbachel.
Her body trembled the moment she saw the monster.
She wanted to run away. But she didn't.
Flee, retreat, run away—those words only come when you are standing and facing your fear.
Dunbachel threw her body forward to face it. It wasn't a conscious decision, her body moved first.
'Why am I doing this?'
The question came after the fact.
With a thud, the sound of her pierced abdomen followed.
"Ugh!"
Dunbachel felt the phantom pain of her stomach being pierced.
She expected excruciating pain, but since her muscles were so tense from her nerves, her abs only ached, and there was no real pain.
Her arms trembled. She saw her bent wrist guard and the remains of the monster's corpse in her hand.
"What are you doing?"
Encrid asked.
Right after Dunbachel blocked in front of him, Encrid lifted the corpse of the monster.
"Not coming out?"
Encrid felt overwhelming exhaustion.
It wasn't just about thrusting a sword, even lifting the monster's corpse had to be done while pouring Will into it.
The result was the exhaustion that weighed on his entire body.
Though he didn't feel hollow, his eyes were sharper than ever.
The fool who had tasted omnipotence didn't even realize how extraordinary his actions had been.
Because that wasn't what mattered now.
Instead, his gaze turned to the side.
Jerix was dead.
In the meantime, Roman had killed the Spider Swordsman with a Knight's strike.
Oara had slain the Owlbear.
The short-haired blonde lay injured from creating a forced opening.
Standing beside her was Oara.
"What are you?"
She asked in astonishment, looking at him.
Encrid answered her question.
"It's your turn."
Even though Oara had heard an unexpected response, she didn't question it and turned her head forward.
There stood the true lord of this Demon Realm—Fragment of Balrog.
Oara couldn't fight for long because of the poison.
If she pushed herself, she would have to rest for a while, so she didn't easily leave the city.
She only fought when there was no other choice.
So, if she had fought Jerix and the others and then faced that thing, she would have quietly resigned herself to her fate.
Encrid had seen enough to know that today was different.
* * *
"Show me. Show me what Knight Oara is protecting."
A guest who had come to the city spoke from behind Oara.
That guest was a strikingly handsome and unique man.
It was as if he had known this would happen and had acted accordingly.
So, was there a problem with that?
No.
Oara knew what she had to do, and she smiled.
As she smiled, Oara raised her sword and said,
"Cheer me on and let's dance."
Oara returned the words Encrid had said to her and swung her sword.
As she swung, she stepped forward. The curved blade drew a graceful arc, aimed at Balrog's head.
Clang!
The Fragment of Balrog raised its steel, now stained red, and blocked Oara's sword.
A Knight and a monster met in a clash of weapons and stood still.
Encrid wished.
He wished to see Oara truly fight.
That's why he had repeated 'today'.
He had already cheered her on.
By killing Jerix the ghoul.
Creating this stage was the highest tribute and cheer Encrid could offer.
He just wanted to see it. To see what Knights do and what they are capable of.
Through the repetition of today, Encrid had said all he wanted to say.
And Oara showed him exactly what he had hoped for.
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