Chapter 358 - Wait, Stop.

Catching an arrow in flight was a remarkable feat by any standard. Even if you knew it was coming, it was impressive. This one had come without warning, aimed at the back of his head. Yet he had sensed it and caught it, rather than merely dodging it. He had achieved that through the harmony of his sensory arts and Concentrate on a Single Point. "... Wow."

"Wh-what was that?!"

Two of the trainees found their voices. The other three could not even speak. Simply watching was enough to astonish them. One marveled at his catching the arrow; the other was startled that an arrow had come flying out of nowhere. Encrid looked up at the outer wall. A figure stood there, face covered but making no attempt to conceal his presence. He stood perfectly steady, apparently untroubled by the narrow footing. It seemed a testament to his excellent balance. His clothes were ordinary: a loose shirt and trousers cut short at the ankles. Had he decided against black because it was not the middle of the night? He had still covered his face, though. Encrid tilted his head. After sending the arrow his way, the man had made no further move. He looked as though he were waiting for an answer.

"Now..."

Just as the man opened his mouth, Encrid hurled the arrow in his hand straight back at him. It zipped toward its owner. Strike While They Talk, from the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique. The arrow whizzed through the air, propelled by an adaptation of the Throwing Sword Technique, and the man sprang sideways.

'Light on his feet.'

Even as that thought ran through his mind, Encrid's hands kept moving. He had thrown the arrow as bait, and immediately followed it with a dagger. FWEEEE!

A whistle dagger, no less. They were hard to come by, and he had just used one of his few here. As it hurtled toward him at terrifying speed with its clear whistle, the man dropped backward over the wall. Encrid's right foot pressed into the ground. He bent his knee, building spring. Though described separately, the movements naturally happened in a single instant.

BOOM!

He launched himself forward, gouging a hole in the packed earth of the training yard. His body shot forward at a terrifying speed that seemed proportional to the crater he left behind. The trainees barely caught even an afterimage. "You're insane!"

The voice came from beyond the wall. Encrid ignored it and leaped up. He might not be fully armed, but he was carrying three swords. The five trainees, who could do little more than blink and stare, gaped even wider. Wearing leather armor and carrying three swords, he simply hopped upward. For him to move so lightly seemed like some kind of trick. A mystic art, trickery, magic, or something of the sort. Encrid hooked his fingertips over the top of the wall and hauled himself up. How was he doing that? Was it magic? As those questions tangled in the five trainees' heads, Esther, awake now, watched through half-lidded eyes. Naturally, no magic was involved. This was the work of something physical that had told limits to go to hell. As Encrid pulled himself upward, two men waiting behind the wall drew shortswords. They jumped where they stood and swung. Two blades rushed toward his wrist. He was halfway up the wall when he released his left hand. WHOOSH! WHOOSH!

The blades aimed at the hand atop the wall cut empty air. Meanwhile, Encrid secured his right-hand grip and pulled again. His body shot upward. As he rose into the air, he caught the startled looks of the two waiting below. Their eyes darted. With the sun behind him, he looked to them like a black shadow that had suddenly materialized. "Wait!"

One of them shouted, but that was none of his concern. Why should he go easy on people who had attacked first? Twisting in midair, Encrid took the gladius in his right hand and Spark in his left. To the attackers, light seemed to blaze from his eyes. The sun at his back made the sight uncanny. He appeared to hang motionless in midair, then both hands moved in an instant. A black shadow, gleaming eyes, and two streaks of light carrying very real danger swept savagely outward to either side. CLANG! THUNK!

His right hand slashed as he drew. His left stabbed in the same motion as its draw. Two different forms of swordsmanship struck two enemies simultaneously. The man on the right at least managed to raise his sword upright and block. The one on the left had no recourse. The blade pierced his left shoulder. Even that was only thanks to luck. Encrid had incorporated his recent realization into the attack.

'Not enough.'

He needed the Will of the Instant in his left hand, and the Crushing Sword in his right. He learned by teaching and reviewed what he had learned while fighting his attackers. Now he could see the path ahead. Landing with a thud, he touched one knee to the ground and raised his head, an unconscious smile on his face. Was there a set time for learning? Every moment, everything was a teacher and a lesson. Watching Krang's back, he had learned something about presence. From Andrew's painstakingly honed technique, he had learned to combine swordsmanship and wrestling. There was much to learn here, too. That alone made him glad he had come to the capital and escorted Krang. That was simply the kind of man he was. From the other side, however, it was a horrifying sight. He vaulted the wall in a single bound, struck one man with a short blade and punched a hole through another's shoulder in midair, then landed smiling? The light in his eyes could easily look like madness.

"The bastard's fucking crazy!"

One of the attackers shouted. Encrid had no interest in why they were shouting. Who were they? It was closer to intuition than deduction, but he was certain.

'Are they any different from the ones before?'

Not much. Then he could simply cut them down. In other words, he could sense no difference between them and the assassins who had attacked along the way. They were the same group. Just as he made up his mind and prepared to move, they reacted. They were assassins, too, trained and practiced in their arts. In particular, they were first-rate at reading an opponent's presence. As Encrid pressed the attack, one hurriedly shouted,

"Stop!"

The plea was sincere, but naturally useless. Encrid had already marked them as enemies. WHOOSH!

He closed the distance so fast it was difficult to tell when his step began or ended. At the same time, a long line streaked overhead. There were three attackers in all, and only the one who had first shot the arrow from atop the wall remained unharmed. He was the one who had shouted "Stop," and scarcely had the word left his mouth before a blade descended on his head. It almost seemed as though the blade had come flying at him, compressing the space between them. 'Fuck!'

He did not even have time to swear aloud. He drew and raised his weapons faster than ever before: a curved sword in each hand. They were his signature weapons. This was a man who stood as one of the pillars of the assassins' alliance. 'Block it and knock it away.'

As he resolved to do so, both curved swords rose to meet the incoming streak of light.

'Blocked it!'

Yet strangely, the moment when the light met his blades seemed to stretch out. It gave him time for thought after thought. Still, he had no room to question it. He concentrated as never before, thinking solely of blocking.

'That was fast.' Understanding dawned. The angle of the draw, the grip, even the way he applied his strength.

'Yes. That's how it's done.'

Ways of swinging his weapons and applying force came to him. But why had he still felt no impact? Staring at the streak of light, he saw it descending bit by bit. The blade traced a perfectly unwavering line. Only then did it touch his two weapons. His thoughts ended there. BOOM!

CR-R-RACK! CRUNCH! Encrid had imbued his swinging blade with the Will of the "Instant." What was the foundation of speed?

["Explosive speed comes from the force of properly contracting your muscles in the first place. Those slow bastards who just bulk themselves up are all idiots. Fucking idiots."]

That was what Rem had said.

["Muscles, brother."]

That was what Audin had said. Muscles. More precisely, muscles he knew how to use and control properly. The muscles of his right thigh, waist, abdomen, shoulder, forearm, and grip contracted, adding explosive speed. He twisted his ankle and waist, adding centrifugal force in a vertical arc and channeling it into the descending sword. With everything aligned, the falling blade was truly a thunderbolt. It was his own reinterpretation of Ragna's Thunderbolt Drop, a strike that would take at least a proto knight to block. This was Will in a downward strike, rather than a stab. The result was inevitable. The thunderbolt, driven by trained muscles, forced both curved swords down. The first explosive sound was metal colliding. The cracking that followed came from the bones of the man's hands and arms breaking. The final crunch was the unsharpened backs of his curved swords being driven against his collarbones. With a single blow, Encrid had all but crushed his enemy. "Whoooo."

As he let out a long breath without moving, the remaining two could not even contemplate attacking. The one with a hole in his shoulder held a poison called "Ten Breaths," but could not move so much as a hand. With the shadow of the wall behind him, Encrid exhaled, his breath curling upward from his lips like steam. The sudden burst of movement had sent his body temperature soaring. "Stop? Wait? Have something to say?"

Only then did Encrid speak.

'Fuck, took you long enough to ask.'

The attacker who had broken two finger bones blocking the gladius thought that as he rose and spoke.

"We came to warn you."

"Warn me?"

Was it his imagination, or did it seem they had come for a beating rather than to deliver a warning? Encrid looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "Ugh... This is no place for you. Go back. That's what we came to say."

That came from the man with a hole in his left shoulder.

"You're the ones who attacked without warning."

"You could have dodged it."

"What a load of shit. After all the attacks you've made, you wouldn't have a leg to stand on if I lopped off both your heads." No sooner had he finished speaking than the man with the wounded shoulder threw a smoke bomb to the ground. Smoke billowed upward with a bang. Watching it, Encrid thought they were seriously underestimating him. Did they think they could get him by attacking through a smoke screen? He put Spark away, extended the gladius, and swung with its broad flat turned outward. The blade stirred a gust like a fan. WHOOSH!

Beyond a certain threshold, physical force was no different from a spell. The cloud of smoke swept aside. Encrid expected them to keep attacking. That was what they had always done. But his expectations were dashed.

'I let my guard down.'

He admitted it. He had never imagined they would flee, but they had all bolted. "What happened?"

Andrew belatedly emerged from the house and came running, fully armed. The five trainees followed, along with Mac. Though he had apparently changed careers to become a butler, Mac clearly had not neglected his training. Judging by the mood in the capital, this was no time to put down one's sword and grow fat. There was more than one troubling thing here. "They've already left."

Andrew had gathered that there had been attackers. His eyes turned to the corpse.

"What about him?"

"He came at me, so I gave him a taste of my sword. He died."

The bones in both arms had broken, and his collarbones had shattered. The impact had carried through to his organs, and the backs of his own weapons had struck his heart hard enough to send him across the river. "Unbelievable. Now they're climbing over a noble's walls in broad daylight? Not even waiting for night?"

Andrew stared at the dead man and the traces of smoke, anger in his voice. Encrid was piecing together the situation. These men were assassins. Why attack now?

'Jaxon's away, and everyone else has scattered.'

There could hardly have been a better time. And what did that mean?

'They're watching us.' Beside him, Andrew ground his teeth.

"Those bastards..."

His pride must have been wounded, and he must have been angry. Encrid roughly wiped the blood from his blade, put it away, and swept his hair back with one hand. Until a moment ago, things had been going quite well. He had even gained an insight. Ragna or Rem might break through a wall like that more than a dozen times a day, but without repeating today, Encrid needed luck on his side. Then a thought suddenly struck him. Could he draw that luck his way at will? To do that, he first needed to understand the situation.

"What are the knights and the knight order doing?"

That was the heart of it. His question went straight to the heart of the matter. Andrew's lower lip twitched and trembled. What defined a kingdom's military strength? Its knights, of course. If it had none, if it could not train them, Aspen would inevitably pummel it at once. Border skirmishes were not what mattered. Had Naurilia's military strength fallen behind even a little, Aspen would have committed its full might and crossed the border without hesitation. Ultimately, the knight order's existence was why they had never pushed past Border Guard. Aspen had judged that in an all-out war, fought regardless of the cost to national strength, it would lose. Assessing the situation and predicting what would come next. That was what he needed now. As Encrid did so, he thought,

'This is really Big-eyes' specialty.'

But what could he do when the man was not here? Without teeth, you had to chew with your gums. "Do you know the country's current situation?"

After a moment's thought, Andrew answered with a question.

"No."

Encrid's reply was bright and breezy, as though it were none of his business. Watching him, Andrew felt he could roughly understand why Krang thought so highly of this lunatic captain. How many people could admit they did not know something? Upright, honest, and steadfast. That was the impression he gave. And what about his skill?

'A monster. An absolute monster.' He was almost curious about the fallen man's final moments. Why did the bastard seem to be smiling faintly? It was because enlightenment had come as his life flashed before his eyes at the moment of death, but Andrew had no way of knowing that. "There isn't a single knight in the capital right now. Let's go inside for the details."

What followed was not for the trainees' ears.

"Mac."

Andrew spoke as he turned.

"Yes. I'll have this cleaned up."

Mac looked decidedly ill. Encrid thought that was natural. He would have a headache too if his lord had wagered his entire fortune on an obviously losing hand. He had not heard the details, but he could tell from the impression alone.

'Isn't this a fight at a disadvantage?'

It was obvious without much thought. From Krang's position, it was one danger after another. Enough to make Encrid wonder whether he would have been better off building strength elsewhere, then bringing troops back later to force the issue. "What? Something happen?"

Rem returned before evening.

"Nothing decent for sale."

Dunbachel was with him. Ragna came a little later.

"If this is his first visit to the capital, why does he keep insisting he knows a shortcut?"

Encrid heard the servant who had accompanied him complaining, drenched in sweat despite the mild weather. Sending a servant along had indeed been a stroke of genius. Jaxon returned last.

"Where do you keep wandering off to?"

Rem glanced at him as he spoke. They had gathered in the ground-floor lounge that served as a drawing room. Rem seemed to have instantly forgotten that he had been out wandering himself. Typical Rem, perhaps. Jaxon ignored him completely. He neither looked at him nor gave any sign he had heard. He often ignored Rem like this, but this time he seemed not to register him at all. Instead, he turned his gaze to Encrid. Seeing him, Encrid spoke.

"You're back?"

Jaxon nodded. To Encrid, he seemed to be troubled by something. It was subtle, minute. Without Sixth Sense, he would never have noticed. "Something wrong?"

"No."

The answer came the instant he asked. That was strange, too. Normally, that would not have been his response. Wouldn't he have said something like, "Does something have to be wrong?" or "It seems more has happened here than with me"? But he had not. Why? Encrid was curious, but would Jaxon answer if he asked? If they were that forthcoming, they would never have been called the Lunatic Company. For now,

"Andrew, go on."

Finishing the explanation came first. Whatever he did or did not decide to do, he needed to know at least how things stood.