Chapter 425

Enkrid felt every hair on his body stand on end.

At any moment, his opponent’s blade could come for his throat.

Would he be able to block it?

Rather than letting the question take hold, his body moved first.

He adjusted his footing and placed his hand on the sword belt—ready to draw at any instant.

In his mind, dozens of attack patterns emerged and vanished just as quickly.

What if I throw a Whistle Dagger to distract him?

Or should he charge in and suppress him with the Heavy Blade?

Would The Giant’s Strike be an option?

His One Point Focus activated instinctively, and he refused to even blink.

He saw his opponent’s eyes.

Yellow. Amused.

That amusement alone was enough to kill.

Yes, it really could.

But so what? Would that change anything?

His focus burned hotter. His vision sharpened.

Every attack he could think of would be blocked. He knew that.

So? What did it matter?

Raised hairs, a pounding heart, trickling sweat, an unnatural chill in the summer heat—

Enkrid pushed it all aside.

The last time he had faced a knight of this caliber, his only chance had been to attack first.

Because he hadn’t even been confident in blocking a single strike.

Back then, it had been his best option.

And now?

He had been beaten down, broken, and battered, yet he had never stopped moving forward.

Every day, without rest, he swung his sword until his palms burst open.

Not a single day had been wasted.

The sun rose anew each morning, but Enkrid had never allowed his days to blend into meaningless routine.

Will it work?

A deep hunger surged within him.

Would it be okay to go for it now?

He wanted to.

His fighting spirit burned, and everything else disappeared—only his opponent remained.

Is this arrogance? Hubris?

Before he had even become the troublesome leader of the Mad Platoon, his endless training had started to feel like something that had happened a lifetime ago.

Back then, even Enkrid had felt something akin to confidence.

How could he not?

He had swung his sword like a madman, over and over again.

He had refused to acknowledge that effort didn’t always grant equal rewards to everyone.

Or maybe he had known—but had simply ignored it.

The confidence he gained among mediocrities had once driven him to challenge stronger foes.

"How strong am I now?"

That was what had led him to seek out a worthy opponent.

His steps back then had been fueled by nothing but blind belief that he must have improved.

And what had come of it?

The spring of his twenty-seventh year.

That was when Enkrid realized just how worthless his talent was.

A meaningless scuffle had taught him that lesson.

Five exchanges.

That was all it took before his sword flew from his grasp and a hole was carved into his gut.

As he clutched his wound, he had asked—

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

Twelve.

He had been too dumbfounded to even feel bitter.

That was what a true genius was.

"Sorry, that was my first real fight."

The kid had said.

That memory was still vivid.

He could never forget that child prodigy’s face.

And yet…

He could cut down an opponent without confidence, but he could never win that way.

"Instead of hesitating, just swing."

Rem had once told him.

"Keep cutting until it works."

Ragna had said while speaking of slicing through unbreakable stone.

"If your heart wavers, train your body. If your body falters, strengthen your heart, Brother."

That was Audin’s belief.

"Just stab them when they’re not looking."

Jaxon’s answer when asked how to fight someone stronger.

Maybe his current craving to test himself was just another baseless surge of confidence.

So what if it was?

Even after building an entire tower of effort, he had found himself desperately climbing the walls to go even further.

He wanted to test himself.

He wanted to quench his thirst.

He wanted to point his blade at this man.

"How far have I come?"

Compared to that knight from Azpen?

Compared to that child who had put a hole in his stomach?

It was nothing but sheer willpower. Stubbornness.

And his opponent knew it.

He had relaxed his stance, yet this idiot was about to charge in.

The vest-clad man stared at Enkrid and grinned.

There was much to laugh at.

Not just at this fool’s unrelenting persistence—

But at how everyone around him had naturally fallen into step with it.

"I don’t know. Let’s see."

The man moved.

Thud.

A foot struck the ground.

And his body stretched forward, as if lengthening unnaturally.

Acceleration beyond human limits.

The instant Enkrid recognized it, his sword moved as well.

It wasn’t The Giant’s Strike.

It wasn’t the Heavy Blade.

His body simply reacted.

Boom!

A thunderous impact.

Enkrid felt himself pushed backward but bent his knees, lowering his center of gravity to withstand it.

Scrrrch.

His boots scraped against the dirt, leaving a trail behind him.

Without hesitation, he retracted his blade and stabbed forward.

Minimizing unnecessary movement.

Targeting any opening.

A reaction born from instinct, honed by countless duels with Rem.

"Hiyah!"

The man let out a sharp breath and knocked the blade aside.

His weapon—thick, curved, and barely a handspan long—was a Jambiya.

Despite colliding with Acker, it didn’t break or even chip.

A fine blade.

Rem, Ragna, and Audin could have intervened—but none of them did.

Clang! Clang! Clang-clang-clang!

Their weapons clashed again and again.

Instead of retreating, Enkrid focused on the dagger’s trajectory.

Surprisingly, the blade seemed to disappear at times.

But each time, his One Point Focus kicked in—predicting the attack based on its starting point and intended destination.

Like mapping out a projectile’s arc.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was enough to keep up.

Twelve exchanges in, Enkrid abruptly dropped his left hand to his waist—

Then thrust forward.

Flame Flicker.

A strike faster than anything before.

A single, pinpointed line.

Pure speed.

And then—

The tip of Flame Flicker was caught.

Snatch.

Like a rock wedged between stone, the blade didn’t budge.

In the same instant—

The Jambiya was pressed against Enkrid’s throat.

One hand had seized his sword mid-strike.

The other had slipped past Acker’s guard, closing the distance seamlessly.

A dagger at his neck.

"This is as far as you go, little one."

The man smirked.

Enkrid’s vision finally opened up.

Until now, he had only seen the man before him.

Now, he saw everything—the familiar training ground, the three trees, and everything around him.

At the same time, a dull ache spread across his entire body.

It felt like the exhaustion of several days’ worth of rigorous training all catching up to him at once.

"Where are you a knight of?"

Enkrid asked.

"Knight? I’m not one of those."

The man shrugged, his expression carefree.

It was an oddly innocent gesture, completely at odds with his scarred body and the short, rough beard covering his face.

"Shouldn’t you introduce yourself first?"

A man with dark brown skin, wearing a wide cloth hat and a turban, stepped forward, glancing around at the gathered warriors.

His tone was light, as if the commotion just now was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Allow me to introduce him. This is Anu, commonly known as the King of the East."

The sudden revelation made even Enkrid stiffen for a moment.

"Surprised?"

The so-called King grinned broadly.

The Eastern Mercenary King.

The greatest explorer of the continent.

Master of the Griffon.

The man who, at eighteen, killed a lion with a single sword.

"Let’s see. You enjoy fighting, don’t you? And I hear you’ve dedicated your life to slaying demons? Join me. I’ll grant you the martial prowess of a knight, the power to kill demons as you wish."

It wasn’t just talk.

It was the words of a man who had already proven himself, a man with countless titles to his name.

The reason why Rem and the others hadn’t intervened was clear.

The so-called King of the East had shown no intent to kill.

He had merely accepted Enkrid’s stubbornness, treating it as a lesson.

And so, none had interfered.

But now—

This was something else entirely.

Even Ragna, who had been lost in thought, snapped out of his daze.

"Confident, aren’t you?"

Rem, unable to keep quiet, spoke up.

Audin chuckled.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

He hadn’t called himself a knight, but the skill he had displayed was more than enough to be recognized as one.

And yet, he spoke boldly, straight-backed and proud.

It was a presence not unlike Crang’s.

Lua Gharne, ever the scholar, fixed her gaze on the man.

She was itching to know how he intended to make such an outrageous claim come true.

The scorching sun bore down.

The dust on the training ground rose and settled with every movement.

Heat radiated from the stone beneath their feet.

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Just as Enkrid was about to speak—

"My lord, do not make promises you cannot keep."

The turbaned man cut in.

"Hmm?"

Enkrid’s eyebrows twitched slightly at that.

"You think I can’t do it?"

Anu’s tone turned firm.

"And how exactly will you accomplish it?"

The man countered.

"Easily."

"Effort alone is not enough."

"Hard work?"

"Still not enough."

"If you keep at it, it might work."

Anu’s eyes gleamed with determination.

His words demanded to be believed.

But his aide refused to back down.

"No, it will not."

"You give up too quickly!"

"It’s not about giving up. It’s about not making promises you cannot keep."

Anu snorted.

Enkrid observed the exchange.

This man—

He was insane.

Not unlike Rem, but in a different way.

"We had heard so many rumors that we had to see for ourselves. Apologies for barging in unannounced. We meant no harm."

The aide’s Eastern accent was thick.

And yet, no one doubted his sincerity.

Even Enkrid could tell—the King of the East had simply humored his stubbornness.

"Welcome."

Enkrid offered a simple greeting.

"Mind if I stay a few days?"

Anu asked.

"You look like you’ll do as you please anyway."

Rem interjected.

Anu roared with laughter.

"You’ve got good instincts, kid!"

No one could stop him, and frankly, Enkrid didn’t feel like stopping ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) him.

The so-called King was already engaging in conversation with Rem, Ragna, and Audin—showing a natural ease with people.

Not that any of them were the type to accept just anyone into their circle.

"Look at the size of you. You must be strong."

"A modest amount, Eastern brother."

"I have a friend named Gestarian. He’s strong as well. You two would get along. Everyone here seems capable. How did you all end up in the same place?"

His tone was odd.

It was lighthearted—yet he spoke to them like they were mere children.

"I apologize for the trouble he’s causing."

The aide sighed.

Enkrid mulled over what he had just experienced.

It wasn’t just the strain left on his body.

The techniques that Rem had tried to drill into him time and time again—instinctual maneuvers that had yet to fully manifest in real battle.

No matter how refined a technique was, it meant nothing if it couldn’t be used in actual combat.

Could I use them against him?

From the way he spoke, he seemed more than willing to accept any duel.

Unlike Rem, Ragna, or Audin, this man had fully accepted everything Enkrid threw at him.

That meant one thing—

He had been given a chance to fight for real.

Before Enkrid had even uttered his greeting, his mind had already reached that conclusion.

"Five duels a day should do."

He murmured.

"What? What did you just say?"

The aide blinked.

"Maybe ten?"

Enkrid added, as if testing his own endurance.

Then he turned his gaze toward the aide.

"You heard him."

"I… did."

The man hesitated.

Up until now, he had believed that his King was the most insane man he had ever met.

But here was someone just as mad.

And so, the decision was made.

The King of the East would be staying.

"Take care of me, kids."

Anu grinned.

"How old are you, exactly?"

Rem asked, frowning.

"Over a hundred."

The sheer absurdity of the statement made everyone pause.

But it wasn’t a lie.

He was the man who had gathered mercenaries and warriors from all over the East and built a kingdom.

That had happened over fifty years ago.

And yet, he still lived.

Still fought.

Still thrived.

The Eastern Mercenary King, Anu.