Chapter 324 - Attack Is the Best Defense

Attack was the best defense, so Encrid took in his opponent's entire body. He read not the man's gaze, but the intent within the movements themselves. For an instant, his head and eyes felt as though they were burning. That was how much concentration he had mustered. The blood vessels in his brain bulged, their pulse reverberating throughout his body. Concentrate on a Single Point took hold with unparalleled intensity. His opponent moved, making a series of small motions. Encrid read the meaning hidden in that sequence. Just as he might read between the lines to understand a seemingly meaningless word, discerning its context, he deciphered movements he had thought meaningless. How did a knight's sword move? He still could not tell. The process was difficult to understand. But hadn't he watched it through countless deaths? Hadn't he watched even when frozen, unable to move? Hadn't Ragna and the others shown him as they died? And so he saw it. A fleeting opening. The gap between drawing the sword and swinging it. A separation. Had he not repeated today, had he not accumulated those repeated experiences, he would never have seen it. No matter how sharply he honed his sensory arts or watched with Concentrate on a Single Point, the opening would have remained invisible. Encrid aimed for that opening. Drawing on experience, he heightened his senses to their utmost and summoned such concentration that the blood vessels in his brain seemed to burn. His opponent was just about to draw. Encrid felt time slow. Even so, he calmly carried out what he needed to do, following his plan in the order he had devised. First, he unleashed the Heart of the Superhuman. THUMP! As his heart beat, blood raced wildly through his body. He was not in perfect condition, but this was the best he could manage. His hand calmly closed around the gladius's grip, and he turned his body at an angle. In that interval, the knight finished drawing his sword with an irritating scrape. He steadied his breathing. Within that slowed time, his thoughts moved comparatively quickly. Reflections flashed through his mind. The first sword technique he had created was Snake Sword. A sword that deflected. The second was Lightning Stab, an art imbued with the Will of the Instant. A sword built around the question of speed. And now, the third. 'There was no preparatory movement.' Encrid had watched the knight's sword. Truly countless times. He had experienced it through death. He had watched the motion of the swing and considered its principles: the transfer of force, the shifting center of gravity, and the movements that followed. He had also taken in Ragna's sword. The technique called Lightning Strike. Though he did not know its name, he had engraved the movement of that strike in his mind. To this he added his imitation of the Fairy art, reading his opponent's intent. He read it, again and again. Combined with the experience amassed through repeated todays, the separation within that opening stood out vividly. 'After the draw, just before the swing.'

Neither earlier nor later would do. Everyone's eyes converged on them. Ragna's pupils silently widened. His captain's movements seemed to overlap with those of the man who had suddenly burst in. Sinar saw the same thing. 'What is he...?' It happened before everyone could grasp the situation. Dunbachel and Krais had no idea what was happening, while Esther was only just rising, her fur bristling. Amid a strange silence, the intruder drew his sword, and Encrid exuded a peculiar presence. Whether everyone watched or not, Encrid did what he had to do. 'I can't block it.'

That was his conclusion. Then what should he do? If blocking was impossible, what about striking first? He had not tried it, but he had seen the possibility. The sight of blood on the knight's hand after blocking Ragna's sword remained vivid. Even as Encrid died then, lightning had struck his mind. Sword, knight, power, defense, failure. Everything had come together to yield a single answer. 'If I can't block it...'

He would strike first. Encrid revealed his third sword technique. A heavy sword, an art founded on the Heavy Sword Technique. Onto it, he layered Will. A Will he knew well from suffering it countless times: intimidation. He could not wield perfect intimidation, but he had honed it enough to blend it into his swordsmanship. It was the technique that had astonished Ragna. Of course, that today had vanished, so Ragna would be astonished anew. He also mixed in a method from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. An advance normally began with a step forward, but Encrid extended his foot sideways. The knight's eyes flicked down toward his feet. 'What?'

It made no difference, but it was enough to raise a question. The knight's sword did not slow, but a gap opened in his thoughts. Encrid seized that timing. THUD. He kicked off the ground. Drawing his left foot to the side, he drove through his right foot behind him. The Valen Mercenary Sword Technique's Crossed Steps. Footwork that was all the more distracting to an opponent with sharp eyes. A trick of the feet meant to probe and pry into the tiniest opening, to improve his chances however slightly. 'Speed won't do it.'

He already knew that. So he would rely on presence, not speed. His ploy worked. The knight did not falter, but his sword did not come flying either. Having stolen the initiative, Encrid advanced. SHING! He drew his sword and raised it upright. From that position, he exerted pressure through Will, through intimidation. The knight moved his sword reflexively. Senses honed over many years urged him to block this blow. The third sword technique: Crushing Sword. It brought oppression and pressure, like a mountain weighing upon the earth, like a finger crushing an ant. That pressure stripped his opponent of choices. In short, it made blocking the only option. It was slower than a Lightning Stab performed with Spark. But the presence founded on Will put ample pressure on his opponent. The knight Jamal had not let his guard down, yet he had not anticipated this. No, he could not have. Who could? He had torn his way into a tent, only to have his timing stolen and a Heavy Sword strike come crashing down at him? The draw was slow. Afterward, the sword picked up speed. The reasonably swift blade traced a path that left the opponent no choice but to block. Even so, the knight was not so easily bested. 'Not a chance.'

Reflexively, his sword vibrated and struck against the descending blade. It hummed within a span so short that even an instant was an apt description. Encrid could not hear it. Already, he was concentrating and bringing his sword down with everything he had. He had spent even the strength he might have reserved for what came next. BOOM!

An explosive report erupted. CRACK!

The sound of wrenching bones followed. Encrid felt weightless. That old shortsword, which he could have snapped barehanded, had delivered an absurd force of recoil. With that floating sensation, he went hurtling backward. A heavy impact against his back brought pain. Searing pain. He had slammed back-first into the brazier. Encrid rolled to the side.

"Ah!"

Krais gave a startled cry, and flames rose from the overturned brazier. Though lengthy in the telling, it had all happened in a very short time. The intruder had torn through the tent, said a few words, and immediately fought. Encrid's head fell to one side. For an instant, he lost consciousness. Just after he fell, Ragna sprang into action with a rush of air, at the same moment Krais gave his startled cry. BOOM!

A second explosive report rang out. It came from the knight swinging his sword upward against Ragna's Lightning Strike. Ragna, too, flew backward. He was flung into the air, but he did not roll aside like Encrid. Leaping back, he drove his sword into the ground. Firmly embedded, the blade gouged a long line with a grinding scrape. "Hh."

Ragna drew a short breath. That single exchange told him: this man was certainly not beneath him. Rather than attack, Sinar beat Encrid's burning back with a blanket. A few brisk smacks soon put out the flames. Ragna's sword cracked audibly. One blow had brought it to the brink of breaking. He discarded it and drew another: the weapon the squire Bill had used. The knight Aya's weapon was of better quality, but this one's length and weight were more familiar to Ragna. SHING.

He drew and leveled it. Steadying his breathing, he rose from his kneeling position and set his stance. Ragna readied himself to fight. "Enough."

Encrid spoke from where he lay. The knight turned his eyes toward him. Ragna halted the foot that had been about to launch him forward. Sinar quietly stepped back and placed her hand on Nidle. The sight alone told her enough.

'Monstrous.'

Was this possible with a single shortsword that looked ready to snap? It could only be done if some power beyond muscle dwelled within his body. In other words, he was a knight. "I wouldn't have thought someone of your standing would come here," Sinar said. The knight said nothing. He quietly regarded the fallen man. More precisely, the man who had abruptly landed a blow against him. Before the burns on Encrid's back had even healed, flames had scorched him again. His armor was not magical; it could not protect him from heat. Naturally, he had burned his back. Fortunately, it was not a serious injury, partly because Sinar had put the fire out so quickly. His other injuries were worse. 'He puts a Giant to shame.'

Both shoulders were dislocated. And that was not all. Crushing Sword had worked, but the counterattack that followed had been brutal. 'If I hadn't deflected the force at the end...'

It would not have ended with dislocated shoulders. Both palms were torn as well, blood streaming from them. Naturally. Just before impact, the knight Jamal had sounded his specialty, Blade Echo. It was an art that used high-speed vibration as its principal weapon, adding explosive force. The knight remained silent, and Encrid coughed. Encrid waited without speaking. He had expected this to some extent. He had dreamed of and longed for knighthood. Wasn't it only natural that he knew knights well? Having collected and heard many stories about knights, Encrid naturally knew of the honor they spoke of. Which meant he understood what this knight had said. "Didn't you say once would be enough?"

So he spoke. The knight stared at him in silence. "What was that?"

"Crushing Sword."

"Excellent." TING.

The knight put away his sword. Ragna still held his own, its point trained on him. Encrid stood using only his legs. Unable to raise his arms with his shoulders dislocated, he swung an arm with a rough twist of his waist and rested his hand on Ragna's shoulder. It hurt and bordered on an acrobatic feat, but it was not impossible. "Don't attack him today," Encrid said.

Ragna obediently stepped back. His was a talent worthy of the name genius. He knew it too. Their opponent was a knight. Coldly put, attacking now meant death a hundred times out of a hundred. "Your name?" Encrid asked.

"Jamal."

The man answered readily. "Are you with the Ruling Prince's Knight Order?"

"I am." He could not conceal it. Not unless he broke his word and cut them all down now. Since he could not do that, he could not hesitate to reveal his affiliation. A knight's duty was to hold his head high wherever he went. He had declared the minimum concession decency demanded, and his opponent had met it. Now he had to uphold his remaining honor and good faith. That was what it meant to be a knight. "It was an honor," Encrid said.

Whatever the circumstances, he meant it. Jamal's eyes flashed. What was this man? What was this situation? Yet, absurdly enough, he found himself laughing. "An honor?"

He echoed the word with an involuntary laugh. "It's not every day you get to face a knight's sword."

"You swung first, though."

"I thought I'd be done for if I waited." Did he have good instincts, or good judgment? Or was he simply lucky? Had he caught a rat underfoot while taking a step backward? Had the goddess of luck truly blessed him? The absurdity kept making Jamal laugh. He had never been tense to begin with. Now he withdrew his killing intent as well. Without the determination to kill, he looked like an ordinary man standing there, far too ordinary to believe he was a knight. "You spoke of honor, so I trusted you."

"You'll go far." Jamal was a knight. Naturally, he could recognize another's talent. He could see not only their present ability, but also their potential to grow. At first glance, the blond man with red eyes stood out. Ragna was the one who immediately caught his attention. But sometimes, quite apart from talent, a person possessed something no words could express. The man before him was one such person. "We will meet again," Jamal said. With things turning out this way, he actually felt relieved. He had pledged his honor, so he had to keep his promise. There would be nothing Abnaire could do about it. Hadn't he, too, agreed that Jamal would swing only once? "It would be an honor."

Standing straight, Encrid felt his thighs and calves throb as well. Somehow, every time he surmounted one of the walls the ferryman had named anguish, ignorance, and despair, his body seemed to end up a wreck. "Attack is the best defense. Well done."

Apparently finished saying his piece, Jamal turned away. "... We're just letting him go?"

Dunbachel looked uneasy. "What, you want to attack him? Unless we're all desperate to get ourselves killed, we have to let him go. Actually, we ought to show him the way out."

Krais answered her, shuddering as he spoke. He understood how terrifying the man's strength was. He had read the situation well enough to realize that. "Ah, Krais. We shouldn't let this cause a commotion anyway. Show him out."

Krais's eyes widened at Encrid's words. "What did you say?"

"A knight's sword is safer than a street thug's dagger."

"You do realize he's the enemy, don't you?" Krais lowered his voice. He was afraid the man might hear, but would anything change if he did? Yes, the Ruling Prince's Knight Order was the enemy. Encrid knew. But today, they had spoken of honor. "Of course. We have our own obligations to uphold."

They should let him leave in peace. Krais was no fool. If a sentry spotted the man and raised an alarm, it would only make things worse. But should they send Dunbachel instead? Or Ragna? Sinar? Subduing him by force had been out of the question from the start, so the best choice was to have someone with a working brain see him off. Strength did not matter in the slightest. The man was a knight. Krais knew that too. Looking miserable, Big-eyes headed outside.

"Damn it."

Of course, he was not without complaints, so he could not help muttering that needless remark.