Chapter 405 - Eyes That See One Step Ahead

The Will of refusal, awakened thanks to some mad Shepherd's sword. The Will of Acceleration, gained afterward through his exploration of speed. The Will called the Crushing Sword, derived from intimidation. Encrid had awakened these Wills himself and moved forward. Along the way, he naturally examined the path he had walked and envisioned the road ahead. The Crushing Sword was a Heavy Sword, and the sword of the Instant was a Swift Sword. The Will of refusal was a way of steadying his heart. There was also the swordsmanship he called Snake Sword for short, a technique closer to a counterattack: striking gently did not turn a blade into cotton. That one held no Will. And now, here he was. He had previously seen and faced the sword of the man who broke his rhythm. He had not fought mindlessly, drunk on exhilaration. He had seen everything there was to see, and experienced the blows by taking them with his body. Review had taught him other things as well. What was the secret of that rhythm-breaking swordsmanship? The eyes. The man's Will resided in his eyes. He broke his opponent's rhythm by observing, understanding, and judging. Thus, he could not break the rhythm of someone better than himself. It was little more than a half-complete technique. Encrid had also seen the ironclad technique Lierbart used before transforming. Absolute defense through shield and armor. It was a technique that wore an opponent down through a battle of endurance. What lay at its core? The stamina behind that iron wall? The endurance of a trained core? Strong, steady legs? One thing mattered most. 'Continuity.'

A Will that persisted. Of all the techniques Encrid had seen, it might well sustain its Will the longest. That ironclad defense was a technique of anchoring the power called Will in the body's core and enduring. Eyes and continuity. He had understood them, reflected on them, and reached a realization. To these, he would add his attacking sense: the heightened sensitivity that had thrown open his Sixth Sense. In truth, he was trying to imbue the Righteous Sword Technique called the Captivating Sword with Will. The reason it was possible was clear. He had experienced it already. He had done it when fighting the glaive-wielding centaur leader. His senses had run free, predicting his opponent's actions on the basis of countless experiences. His heightened five senses had glimpsed the future, letting him dodge and parry. This was the moment when experience accumulated upon experience brought realization. The moment resolve became determination and shone, exerting itself upon reality. The moment the intangible power called Will manifested in the real world. Encrid's eyes took in his opponent's entire body: the movement of muscles, the shifts of fingers, the direction of feet, changes in breathing, even the effects of drifting dust. His five senses ran wild. It was a flood of information that would have made an ordinary human's head feel ready to burst. Encrid selected only what he needed. This feat was possible thanks to the experience of death amassed through repeating today. That accumulated experience had honed his sense for what he needed and what he did not to an extraordinary degree. The sword came at him in a line as thin as thread, but the fact that he had barely blocked it meant he could react. The moment was still undeniably dangerous, still threatening. Yet precisely because of that, Encrid named his Will-based technique. Giving it a name was how he would properly recognize and use it. Eyes That See One Step Ahead. That was the name of this Will-based art. Encrid saw his opponent's next movement in advance. As mentioned, he had experienced something similar before, but this time it was several times clearer and more vivid. And so, the sword he had built upon countless accumulated experiences traced a line toward the future, toward tomorrow. Ragna might have reached it in an instant, but Encrid had walked there and arrived in his own way. He had no need to envy another's talent. This was the decisive difference between Encrid and the opponent before him. Knowing neither defeat of spirit nor despair, he forgot envy and simply moved forward. WHOOSH. For the first time, he dodged the sword that had become a thread. Lierbart's blade passed behind his head, shearing off some of his hair. The severed strands burst into the air and scattered. In that brief opening, Encrid thrust with the bare minimum of movement. In truth, this was the result of reading and rereading his opponent's moves countless times. He had thrust Spark to defend on the foundation of the Captivating Sword, used the Crushing Sword, endured, and finally unleashed this blow. The shortened, jagged tip of the gladius stabbed into his opponent's chest. Turning into a monster would not have given him a second heart. THUNK! The sensation of the blade digging into muscle traveled through the hilt. The instant he stabbed, Encrid leaned backward. Lierbart's left fist swept through the space he had occupied. A clean hit would certainly have broken something. Encrid dodged as though falling backward. Even as his stance broke, he kicked the sword embedded in his opponent with the sole of his foot. THWACK! SHUNK! The sword's tip emerged from his opponent's back. "Gah!"

Lierbart vomited blood. Dark crimson splashed over Encrid's face. Encrid rolled backward beneath the falling blood, concealing a whistle dagger in his left hand and gripping Silver with his right. Dark blood dripped from his jaw. Without so much as blinking, he raised his sword from a position with one knee on the ground. His eyes stung painfully, and his head throbbed. Sixth Sense had joined his racing senses to predict his opponent's movements. Of course his head hurt. He would not be able to use it against an actual knight. But his opponent was no knight. Having fought one, Encrid felt that distinction keenly. "You damned god."

Lierbart spoke as he looked at the sword lodged in his chest. Soon, blood began streaming from his eyes as well. His gaze did not reach Encrid. He was looking at the life he had lived. They had called him a genius. A hero who would restore his house. After advancing so far, what had he grasped? What had he seen at the end of the road? Only a cliff with no end in sight. Only darkness with no way forward. Only a wall that would not permit his hands to reach it. "You fucking god."

He resented the world. Cursed it without end. Lierbart pulled the steel from his chest with his own hand. Blood gushed from the hole the sword left behind. A fatal wound. One he could never survive. No, perhaps he could survive. Lierbart knew the count's secret. If he went to the count, perhaps he would restore his life. Was his body not already a chimera's? There was nothing wrong with struggling to live a little longer. But what could he do if he lived? There was no road back now. 'Even this can't make me a knight?'

Even after he had abandoned everything for that alone? Then this was the end. His eyes turned toward the man who had dragged his reality into the open. Returned once more to a world filled with nothing but resentment, despair, and frustration, Lierbart heaped curses upon his opponent. "You'll end up just like me."

Struggling desperately to become a knight. "Not that you'll get out of here alive."

A curse wishing him dead. Encrid, of course, paid him no heed. He did not answer. Lierbart crumpled like a doll. His knees gave out first, then he pitched forward. Dark crimson blood spread from his fallen body and soaked into the earth. Encrid watched impassively and thought. Blood, earth, death. He still did not like it. The battle was still raging, but all was quiet around Encrid. Neither cheers of victory nor disappointment at defeat rose. The impact of the fight he and Lierbart had shown them was too great for that. Far behind, an old commander of the royal army who had watched their duel clenched his fist.

"Have you ever seen two knight orders fight? I've just witnessed something greater." The commander murmured the words. His adjutant gave a slight nod of agreement. A thrill ran through the commander's entire body. As he kept his eyes on the battlefield, Encrid's voice rang out. "This war ends here."

It sounded like an order to fight no more. "All of you, stop fighting. I'll end this damned war."

He spoke again. If he did not like it, he could stop it. How could he stop a fight that had already begun? If words would not work, he could pull them apart by force. If someone kept urging them to fight, he could punch them across the bridge of the nose. After breaking up fights between Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, and Audin, his skill at stopping fights was already enough to put a knight's grandfather to shame. "What, you want us to stop fighting now?"

How long had he been watching? Rem spoke as he approached. And he was not alone. "What do we do now, then?"

Ragna was there too. "Not bad."

And so was Jaxon. All three had cut down their enemies. They had come this far after sensing Lierbart's transformation. Ragna had newly consolidated his art while cutting through the shield bearers blocking his path. Rem had split the head of the man savagely wielding two hammers, and cut a Fairy in half at the waist on his way here. Jaxon had killed every one of the five living weapons' adjutants hiding across the field. They had never been a match for him in the first place. The three could have intervened in Encrid's fight, but had not. His swordsmanship was changing before their eyes. It would be a lie to say they had not been astonished. That was why they had stayed out of it. His determination to change and win was vivid and unmistakable. Rem, Ragna, and Jaxon were inwardly impressed. They truly would not be able to toy with him now. Naturally, the battle did not readily stop just because Encrid had stepped forward and spoken. Yet, slowly, the fighting began to cease around him. "Tell them to stop fighting."

Encrid let out a deep sigh as he spoke. It was not as though he was not exhausted. But he had no intention of repeating today either. He would have to keep moving forward. How to put it? Rem really liked having a Captain like this. It was utterly idiotic, but that declaration that he would end the war, that arrogance, suited Rem perfectly. He was not saying it because he could do it. He was saying he would keep going until he did. Resolve. Determination. That was why Rem liked it. "Anyone who keeps fighting dies by my axe! All of you, stop!" What Encrid had shown them was terrifying, but Rem had also rampaged like a madman. More than that, he possessed the madness to smash anyone apart, friend or foe. He laid that madness bare. Everyone saw his gleaming eyes and blood-soaked axe. Naturally, their hands stopped. "If you want to keep fighting, fight me."

Ragna stepped forward as well. Jaxon shrewdly cast his gaze toward the rear, singling out the commanders. His eyes forced them to choose. They also held killing intent: order more deaths, and he would pick them off. "Everyone, stop!"

One of the commanders shouted. More than a few had been awed by Encrid. "Fall back! Fall back!"

"No more needless killing!" They each spoke out. Far behind them, even Marcus sounded the drums. It was not the signal to retreat, but to suspend the fighting. BOOM, BOOM! Not everyone serving the count was an idiot. They knew about the chimera unit and respected the count's grand ambitions, but... 'Is this right?'

It felt like a fight to die, not a fight to win. Some had felt that way. They acted to stop the fighting. "Enough! Stop and fall back!" Something happened that would have left even a Bard incredulous, despite witnessing it firsthand. The fighting stopped. Encrid surveyed the stilled battlefield and set off in one direction. The sky was dark. Clouds hid the sun, dimming even the light of midday. Yet the sight of Encrid was burned into everyone's memory. Rem, Ragna, and Jaxon followed him. Finally, Dunbachel joined them too, appearing from who knew where. As they advanced, the count came out to meet them, veins bulging. Five guards stood armed with swords, spears, and axes. Looking at them, Encrid could not decide whether Lierbart had been a fucking idiot or the count was a bastard. All five reeked of animals too. "That panther bitch has some impudent tricks." The count spoke with a smile on his lips and veins standing out on his forehead. It was as though his face had been divided horizontally: anger above, a smile below. Clearly, something was not going his way. "My tricks are even more impudent. Shall I show you?"

At Encrid's reply, a smile spread across the count's face. The teeth exposed by his rising lips looked strangely black. "Did you think Lierbart was all I had?"

The count gestured as he spoke. Even that gesture looked somehow strained. Esther had clearly done something. At his signal, the five armed guards stepped forward. CRACKLE. Their muscles twisted and swelled, every one of them. Fur sprouted as their bodies transformed. They could not even be called wolf-men. Parts of monsters had been grafted onto them, mingling monstrous fur and muscle with human bodies. That was exactly how they looked. "You lot look fucking disgusting."

Rem rested his axe on his shoulder as he spoke. Had Lierbart been called the finished product? These ones, by contrast, seemed slightly broken. Power imitating a knight's was one thing, but parts of their faces swelling into bubble-filled blisters could hardly be normal. Still, five was quite a few. Encrid considered whether he could keep fighting afterward, even if he could take on one. Fighting Lierbart had pushed his body close to its limit. Even so, he had not the slightest intention of retreating. "I will end this war."

A declaration. An expression of determination. And thus, a display of intimidation. Encrid took a step forward. The five guards glared at him with eyes turned red. "Doing it alone?"

Rem moved to his left. "Two are mine."

Ragna moved to his right. "You need only stand and watch."

Jaxon spoke from three paces to the side. Dunbachel also clenched her molars and stood beside Rem. Was this a precarious balance? The count looked at them and spoke.

"Time is on my side." Was it a ploy to make them anxious? With the standoff established, taut tension filled the space between the two groups. It felt as though a dry blade of grass falling between them would burst into flame. STEP, STEP. Into that tension came the sound of bold, unhurried footsteps. Behind Encrid. He could not turn his head, but felt no need to. "Brothers and sisters, please step back for a moment."

Reinforcements. A man built like a bear approached and stood directly behind Encrid. "Who has been tormenting my betrothed?"

And he was not even alone. Another voice accompanied him, light but pleasant to the ear.