Chapter 668: Interesting

“So, who wants to fucking die today?”

Rem, as usual, poured his heart into the squad’s training. Which, if anyone else saw it, would’ve looked a hell of a lot like bullying.

He’d pick a squad member one by one to spar with, or throw them into outnumbered fights. One of those was a three-on-one match, where they had to hold their ground against three opponents of similar skill. That, at least, was better than fighting Rem directly.

Even with his shout, no one in the squad opened their mouths. The only thing that rose was a murderous spirit that screamed, Anyone who steps up is getting their face smashed in.

Even the ones who used to grumble had learned to shut up. They’d figured it out—the hard way—that mouthing off just meant getting beaten bloody before dragging themselves back to finish whatever they’d been doing.

Fucking weasels.

Rem pushed those ones even harder. His thinking was that if training was hell, real combat would go smoother.

Those who’d been pushed to the brink of death by Rem’s axe during training now moved with lethal calm when facing monsters. When the mercenary-soldiers were sent outside the city in squads to wipe out monsters or beasts, they performed like demons on the battlefield.

And it wasn’t just that they fought well.

None of Rem’s soldiers harassed women in the territory, and they didn’t loot or pull any bandit shit either. They didn’t even try to beg free food from the mess hall.

They didn’t look like the type, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a squad this reliable and disciplined anywhere else in the territory.

Naturally, Rem’s standing changed by the day.

Everyone knew they were Rem’s assault squad.

That’s why, lately, even some of the southern nobles had stopped treating Rem like a disease.

Not that anyone who met him in person ever came running up to shake his hand or anything.

Rem had been absorbed in his usual routine of abusing—training—his squad when it happened.

Crunch, crunch.

The first thing he heard was the sound of careless footsteps. Some bastard wasn’t even trying to hide. The guy approached, radiating an irritating presence like it was his job.

“So you’re the noble killer? That gray hair gives it away. Ugly as hell too.”

The man walked up and said that flat out. Rem’s training ground was in front of the Pen-Hanil mountain range. There was an official training yard, but they usually trained here beneath the mountains instead.

As a result, monster or beast hordes too much for the local post rarely came down. It started at Kraiss’s suggestion, but Rem had to admit—it was a damn good training spot.

“Monsters and beasts drop by all the time? Fucking perfect.”

And so, the place was chosen.

The bastard who showed up had come from the Pen-Hanil range. He held a drawn sword in one hand, stained with black blood.

Rem had sensed the guy’s presence before he even showed up, and had already gotten up and seated himself on the side steps of the platform.

The rough wooden planks groaned beneath him as he leaned back. He didn’t even draw his axe. One arm rested lazily {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} on the stair, the whole posture screaming arrogance.

“Which gutter did this straw-doll roll out of?”

“If that’s directed at me, you’re dead today.”

The man responded instantly. His armor was thin, but well-made. The sword in his hand didn’t look ordinary either. He looked like a noble—though the vicious air around him was anything but refined.

“Is this guy insane?”

One of the squad members muttered. He had a deep scar beneath his eye. A former mercenary who’d once gone by the name Mad Axe.

These days people said he’d mellowed out—but that was just compared to the maniacs here.

“Hey, if you don’t wanna die, fuck off. Shoo, shoo.”

Another senior squad member waved him off, palm facing forward. They all knew that provoking Rem never ended well.

“Did you come here knowing where the fuck you are? What is this, a suicide site?”

While the others threw in their own snide comments, one of the more soft-hearted members took a step forward and said:

“Leave. If you mess around here, you’ll actually die. Go to the Holy Battalion instead. They don’t kill people.”

The Holy Battalion would strap rocks to you and make you march for exercise, but they didn’t kill anyone. This unit wasn’t like that. Rem’s men didn’t back down from fights—they lived for it.

Then the man swung his bloodstained sword without warning. Even Rem hadn’t reacted until the sword was already in motion. There hadn’t been any wind-up at all.

“Down!”

Whoosh!

The air cracked as Rem shouted. That voice was burned into every soldier’s bones from training. Instinctively, the squad member tightened his abs.

Rem would occasionally shout tips during one-vs-many sessions, and missing them usually meant broken ribs.

That’s why they listened.

The soldier dropped backward. No, more like collapsed on instinct. He was following Rem’s order to the letter.

Thud!

The axe that had cut through the air met the man’s sword where the soldier had just been standing, a metallic scream bursting out.

It wasn’t Rem’s usual axe—it was a handaxe he’d thrown. Still, Rem was a natural-born thrower; give him anything and he could hurl it like death itself. But the man had casually deflected it with his sword.

And the blade had originally been aimed to slice straight into the soldier’s chest.

The guy had seen the axe, changed his sword’s arc, and struck it aside. And yet, his stance hadn’t broken, and he didn’t even flinch.

“Where the fuck did this freak come from?”

Rem said, striding forward. He was already off the platform steps, and the distance between them vanished in seconds.

The man swung again, aiming for Rem’s head, just as suddenly and silently.

Rem met him with a rising axe swing.

One came down, the other came up—two weapons crossing mid-air.

Clang! Skreeeech!

Steel sparked where axe and blade locked. They tried to knock each other away, but instead clashed and recoiled sideways.

Rem planted his thighs and absorbed the shock, swinging again. His arm moved like a whip, his axe blade slicing through the air like a bolt of light.

A strike on par with Enkrid’s Will-infused cleaves exploded outward.

Boom!

The axe moved like it had teleported, cleaving the man’s skull.

Or so it seemed.

No blood sprayed. It was an afterimage.

The swordsman had dropped his right foot back and ducked, just barely evading the blow.

It looked lucky.

Yeah, fucking right.

Rem knew he’d dodged on purpose. He’d cut time itself. As he evaded, he thrust his sword.

Well, well.

Rem was quietly impressed. That decision was spot-on. Most would try a big counterattack after a clean dodge—but this guy grabbed the ricasso and thrust on the shortest line.

Sword Grip Thrust. Basic, but devastating when used right.

I’m not finishing this in one go.

Rem snapped his left leg forward. He planned to dodge with just a head tilt, watching the thrust all the way.

But the guy didn’t extend fully. He dodged the kick and sprang back, raising his sword into a high grip.

Now holding it in both hands.

Rem set his axe on his shoulder. Their stances were completely different.

“Tch. What kind of bastard crawled out of nowhere?”

Rem muttered. Something about the guy’s form was irritating. It reminded him of someone.

Brown hair, brown eyes. Calm like a lake, but intense like a downpour.

A strange bastard.

“What are you gonna do with that info?”

The guy answered.

“Wasn’t curious anyway, you prick.”

And an irritating prick at that.

Rem didn’t care about courtesy. Especially not for some asshole he’d never met, with an attitude that rubbed him raw.

The swordsman stepped forward, shifting his weight.

He was focusing everything into a single strike—his resolve naturally converting into Will. He wasn’t using pressure outright, but Rem could feel it anyway.

The kind of shit you saw only in someone who’d fully mastered heavy sword techniques.

Rem thought:

So what?

His axe thrummed as he raised it. He’d crush whatever cheap tricks this bastard was pulling.

He timed his swing to match the falling blade. From his toes to his hips, power surged up, exploding with sorcery. Heart of Might activated naturally, and the force of Giant Cleave followed through.

CRACK!

With a roar like a meteor strike, the shockwave burst.

“Fucking monsters.”

A squad member muttered—but everyone else probably thought the same.

Rem didn’t kill him.

He stopped the axe just as it tapped the man’s skull.

Technically, he twisted the blade’s angle and redirected half the force of the slash, while absorbing the rest. Then, with his left hand, he punched the sword.

In that gap, he hooked the man’s foot and broke his balance.

All of this—skills he’d refined fighting that bastard Ragna after Enkrid left.

The last move was setting the axe atop the guy’s head.

With a knight’s strength and skill, he didn’t need to swing—just the weight of it would crack a skull.

The bastard was kneeling on one knee, blood running down his battered pauldron.

“I’m gonna ask you something. You better fucking answer right.”

Rem’s voice carried a deadly edge. This wasn’t his usual play-kill aura from training. This was the real thing.

If his usual aura was a sunrise, then this was midday sun, blazing and lethal.

If the answer pissed him off, that axe would split the guy’s skull.

“What’s your relationship with that directionless fuck?”

Rem asked.

***

While Rem was locking horns, Audin had run into someone of his own.

Blond hair, blue eyes. A square jaw and a big frame—though, not quite on Audin’s level.

“I came looking for someone,” the blond man said.

Audin was about to ask how he’d gotten in, then dropped it. Whether he’d come in sneaking or just strolled through the front, the guards wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

Lua Gharne stood beside Audin, her huge frog-like eyes rolling as she stared at the man.

“Where the hell did this one come from?”

Her talent-based vision was a useful ability to gauge someone’s strength.

Can’t see through him.

She’d observed Enkrid’s growth for a long time and could easily judge his limits. But when it came to others—especially those of knight-level strength—even her eyes couldn’t perceive the ceiling.

She used that inability to determine how dangerous they were.

Which meant this guy was at least a knight.

“I heard he might be here, but I’m not sure if he actually is.”

The man chose his words carefully with every sentence. Even now, he didn’t finish that last one.

Audin greeted him with a gentle smile.

“I believe the proper etiquette would be for the brother to introduce himself first.”

The blond man didn’t react to Audin’s words. He hadn’t done anything yet, but Audin’s instincts screamed that the man might draw his sword at any moment. Naturally, Audin shifted into a stance.

He spread his feet and let his arms hang at his sides—ready to grab and break whatever came his way.

“What I really want to ask is this. Well, more like—I want to confirm a name. Are you Enkrid?”

The man asked suddenly.

Rophod and Pell, who were watching from behind, thought the same thing: What the hell is this guy?

In this region, Enkrid was known as the Demon Slayer, the Guardian of the Border Guard, the one who ended the civil war.

Everyone knew the rumors: black hair, blue eyes, and a face that bewitched every race’s women.

“Does that look like a lady-killer’s face to you? Which part, exactly? Just look at him. No way in hell.”

Pell blurted whatever came to mind. Whether it was “lady-killer” or “lady-slayer,” didn’t matter—it wasn’t his nickname.

Audin was generally satisfied with his own face, so he could only feel awkward hearing all this.

“...Shepherd brother?”

“If it’s not true, it’s not true.”

Pell turned his head away and mumbled.

“It isn’t.”

Teresa was there too, and immediately chimed in.

“Absolutely not.”

She emphasized it again, doing her utmost to make sure there were no misunderstandings.

“Sister Teresa?”

“I’ll help ensure there’s no confusion.”

This is what you call help? Audin asked with his eyes.

“What kind of idiot doesn’t even recognize our captain? He might not kill women with his looks, but he can split a man in two for fun. Watch your mouth. That last comment just pissed off Sir Audin.”

Rophod added.

“So I split people in two for fun, now?”

“Ah. Didn’t you? Back in the Holy Infantry, we were warned we might get torn in half if we messed up.”

Was the training method flawed? Audin briefly reflected on the past. Maybe it was because the drills were too soft. After all, a good regimen leaves no room for idle thoughts.

The blond man blinked slowly a few times. He hadn’t heard those nicknames before. But one thing was clear:

That bear of a man was not to be underestimated.

“That’s not the point.”

The man said. A new emotion flickered across his otherwise loose expression—anticipation, and joy.

“Let’s have a match.”

Even before he finished the sentence, Audin knew the man was going to charge. The aura hit first.

The sword cut through the air, and golden sand gathered in Audin’s hands. A divine armor formed from concentrated holy power met the enemy’s blade.

Clang!

The divine force in the gauntlets clashed with the Will wrapped around the attacker’s sword.

Audin, by habit, used Divine Penetration, and the man disengaged after the first clash to dissipate it.

He wielded a classic one-handed sword, pale blue and white in color, and judging by its toughness, it wasn’t a common weapon.

A seasoned fighter.

Audin assessed the man’s temperament. He was highly skilled, with moves honed by real battle.

The man, in turn, gauged Audin’s strength.

Maybe that “splitting men in two” bit wasn’t a joke.

The grip strength, the technique—he could believe it. Just moments ago, Audin had tried to grab the blade and snap it in half. He’d pulled his sword back just in time.

“This is fun.”

The man said.

Audin smelled something familiar from him.

Like someone had stirred together an Enkrid knockoff with a Ragna knockoff.

“My name is Odinkar Zaun.”

“I'm Audin Fumrey. I use holy power.”

“Let’s have some fun.”

Zaun—same surname as Ragna. The man who introduced himself as Odinkar raised his sword. A faint light danced along its edge.

It was Will, coalesced and alive.

It was a different kind of Will—this man, too, had broken past a wall. He was a genius in his own right.