Chapter 425 - Where Am I Now
Chapter 425 - Where Am I Now
Enkrid felt the fine hairs on his skin stand on end.
It was as though his opponent's blade could sever his neck at any moment.
Could he stop it?
Before the doubt even fully formed, his body acted.
He shifted his footing and placed his hand on his sword belt, assuming the most natural stance for drawing his blade at any moment.
Dozens of attack strategies flared in his mind, only to dissipate as quickly as they appeared.
What if I use a Whistle Dagger to divert their attention?
Or perhaps he could charge in and crush them with a heavy strike?
What about attempting a giant's blow?
His instincts activated, focusing entirely on the moment. He wouldn't even allow himself to blink.
Then he saw his opponent's eyes—yellow and playful, as though mocking him. Even that playfulness felt deadly.
Yes, it was possible to die here.
But so what?
The fire of his concentration ignited, his vision sharpening to see even an inch ahead.
Every attack he could think of would likely be blocked. That much was certain.
And yet—so what?
The goosebumps on his skin, the pounding of his heart, the sweat dripping down his temple, the inexplicable chill against the weather—all of it, he chose to forget.
Against the knight he'd faced before, the best strategy had been to strike first.
Because otherwise, he couldn't even block a single attack.
At that time, it was the best he could do.
But what about now?
Despite being beaten and broken countless times, Enkrid kept moving, chasing a dream dulled by time.
Not a single day passed without him swinging his sword until his hands bled.
The sun rose anew each day, but Enkrid never wasted a single one.
Will it work?
A sudden surge of desire to act overwhelmed him.
Why not try?
He wanted to—his passion burned, erasing everything but his opponent from view.
Is this arrogance? Overconfidence?
Before becoming the so-called troublemaker unit commander, there had been days when he felt something akin to confidence.
How could he not?
He'd swung his sword like a madman, again and again.
He'd refused to acknowledge that the fruits of effort weren't evenly distributed to everyone.
No, he knew but ignored it.
The self-assurance he gained among the average crowd fueled his ambition to challenge himself further.
Where do I stand now?
He remembered seeking opponents, stepping forward on baseless belief that he had changed since before.
And what was the result?
***
The spring of his twenty-seventh year.
That was when he realized how insignificant his talent truly was.
A random quarrel taught him that.
In just five moves, his sword flew from his hand, and a hole opened in his stomach. Clutching the wound with his palm, Enkrid had asked:
"How old are you?"
"Twelve."
Twelve. He couldn't believe it.
This was a true genius.
"Sorry, it was my first real fight," the kid had said.
The memory remained vivid. He couldn't forget that child prodigy's face.
***
Even so…
A blade wielded without confidence could cut an opponent but never defeat them.
"Instead of debating whether to strike or not, just swing," Rem had said.
"If it doesn't work, keep cutting until it does," Ragna had advised when discussing how to split an unyielding stone.
"If your spirit falters, strengthen your body. If your body falters, train your spirit, brother," Audin had declared, emphasizing relentless practice.
"Just stab them when they're not looking," Jaxen had suggested when asked how to handle stronger foes.
Even now, perhaps this urge to test himself came from misplaced confidence.
So what if it does?
He had clawed his way to this point, climbing over walls with sheer determination after building the tower of effort.
Enkrid wanted to test himself, to quench his thirst, to face his opponent with his blade.
How far have I come?
Compared to the Aspen knight he faced before?
Compared to the child genius who pierced his stomach?
His resolve was forged of stubbornness and grit.
And his opponent knew it.
Though the man had relaxed, Enkrid's defiance burned as brightly as ever.
The man in the vest stared directly at him and laughed.
It was amusing.
Not just Enkrid's obstinacy but how those around him naturally followed his flow.
"I don't know either," the man said.
Then he moved.
With a sharp thud, the man propelled himself forward, his body stretching like an arrow.
It was acceleration beyond human limits.
The moment Enkrid processed it, his sword moved as well.
It wasn't a giant's strike, nor a crushing blow.
It was a pure, instinctive reaction.
Boom!
A thunderous sound erupted as Enkrid felt himself pushed backward. He bent his knees, lowered his center of gravity, and held firm.
Drdrdr.
His boots scraped the dirt as he pulled his deflected sword back and thrust forward, minimizing his movements to exploit any openings.
It was a response born of countless sparring matches with Rem—a reflex honed to perfection.
"Ha!"
The man deflected the thrust with a shout. His weapon was a thick, curved dagger with a one-hand length blade, known as a jambiya.
Even after colliding with Aker, it neither cracked nor broke. It was undoubtedly a fine weapon.
Neither Rem, Ragna, nor Audin intervened.
Thud! Tatatatang!
Their weapons clashed repeatedly.
Instead of retreating, Enkrid studied the dagger's trajectory.
Astonishingly, the blade seemed to vanish momentarily, but his trained Will and one-step-ahead vision enabled him to predict its path.
It was akin to seeing the starting point and deducing the destination.
This allowed him to keep up, though he couldn't afford any flashy counterattacks.
After evading and deflecting twelve strikes, Enkrid's left hand darted to his waist before thrusting forward.
He aimed a strike infused with Sparks.
The blade, swift beyond compare, pierced the air like a single, focused point of speed. It truly embodied the essence of swiftness.
Yet, in the next instant, the fiery blade was caught.
A firm grip halted the sword as if it were wedged unmovingly between stones.
In his other hand, the man held a jambiya—a curved dagger that now rested against Enkrid's neck.
He had not only caught the fiery blade with one hand but also twisted his body deftly, slipping past the reach of the sword. With a fluid movement, he closed in and positioned the dagger against Enkrid's throat.
"This is the end, little one," the man said with a grin.
At last, Enkrid's surroundings came into focus. His narrow focus on the man before him dissipated, and familiar sights of the sparring grounds returned to his vision—the three trees nearby and the dusty terrain.
At the same time, a faint soreness spread through his muscles. His body felt as if it had been pushed to its limits, like the strain from days of intense training.
"Who are you? What order of knights do you serve?" Enkrid asked, his breathing steady but wary.
"Knights? No, nothing like that," the man replied, shrugging with a playful innocence that starkly contrasted his scar-covered body and roughly trimmed beard.
"Then perhaps you could introduce yourself first," came another voice.
A man with brown skin, wearing a turban and wide-brimmed hat, approached with a calm demeanor that suggested the earlier commotion was hardly an issue.
"Allow me to introduce him," the turbaned man continued, his tone smooth. "This is Anu, often called the King of the East."
The introduction hung in the air, stunning even Enkrid into momentary silence.
"Surprised, are you?"
The so-called king chuckled heartily and began speaking again.
Anu was no ordinary man. He was the Mercenary King of the East, the greatest explorer of the continent, the master of the griffons, and the man who had slain a lion with a single sword at the age of eighteen.
"So, I hear you enjoy battle," Anu said, his voice brimming with mirth. "And that you've dedicated your life to killing demons. Join me. I'll gift you the strength of a knight capable of slaying demons."
These words, spoken by a man whose legendary reputation was already well-established, carried undeniable weight.
It was no wonder that no one, including Rem, dared to intervene in the earlier duel. There was no malice in Anu's actions—only a willingness to teach Enkrid a lesson.
But his current offer held a different gravity altogether, one that even Ragna, lost in thought, could not ignore.
"Quite confident, aren't you?" Rem said, breaking the silence with a faint smirk. Audin chuckled quietly, though his eyes betrayed a hint of wariness.
Although Anu hadn't explicitly called himself a knight, his display of skill left no room for doubt. His commanding presence, reminiscent of Krang's, further cemented his aura of authority.
Even Lagarne, usually indifferent to human affairs, watched him intently. The prospect of someone capable of accomplishing the impossible naturally piqued curiosity.
Under the blazing sun, the sparring grounds shimmered with heat. The dust stirred briefly before settling again, casting a haze over the gathered figures.
Before Enkrid could respond, the turbaned man interjected.
"Your Highness, making promises you can't keep is unwise."
"Hm?" Enkrid raised an eyebrow at the unexpected remark.
"Do you doubt me?" Anu asked sharply.
"How exactly do you plan to accomplish it?" the turbaned man retorted.
"Well," Anu began with a grin. "I'll try hard."
"That's not enough."
"I'll give it my best?"
"Still insufficient."
"Sometimes things work out if you keep at it!"
Anu's eyes burned with fervor, his sheer determination almost convincing anyone who heard him. But his subordinate remained unimpressed.
"Empty promises are unacceptable," the man said firmly.
"Bah, you're giving up too easily!"
"It's not giving up; it's about responsibility."
Anu scoffed but said no more.
Watching the exchange, Enkrid felt a familiar sense of absurdity. It was reminiscent of Rem—a different flavor of madness, but madness nonetheless.
The turbaned man spoke again, bowing slightly. "I must apologize for our abrupt visit. Our intentions are not hostile, I assure you."
Everyone present could sense the truth in his words. Even Enkrid recognized that Anu had respected his stubbornness by accepting the duel earlier.
"Welcome, then," Enkrid said simply.
"Would it be alright if we stayed a few days?" Anu asked casually.
"You seem like the type to stay even if we refused," Rem interjected dryly.
Anu burst into laughter. "Sharp lad! I like you!"
Indeed, no one could stop him if he decided to remain. Yet, Enkrid felt no particular reason to object.
Anu's charisma was undeniable. He quickly struck up conversations with Rem, Ragna, and Audin, though none of them were the type to let others close so easily.
"Look at your build. You must be strong," Anu said, gesturing at Ragna.
"A modest strength," Ragna replied. "Eastern brother."
"I've got a friend, Gestharian, with some strength himself. You'd get along well. So, how did all you capable folks end up here?"
His tone was oddly light, as if addressing children.
"My apologies for the inconvenience," the turbaned man muttered, looking genuinely exasperated.
Meanwhile, Enkrid reflected on the earlier duel.
The strain on his body was minor compared to the invaluable insight he had gained. Techniques that Rem had tried to teach him countless times—those instinctual, defensive moves—now seemed more accessible.
He realized Anu would accept further challenges without hesitation, offering him the perfect opportunity to refine those techniques in a life-or-death context.
"Five duels a day," Enkrid muttered to himself.
"Pardon?" the turbaned man asked, blinking.
"Maybe even ten," Enkrid added, his resolve firm.
The turbaned man stared at him, bewildered. For a moment, he thought Anu was the craziest person alive—but now he wasn't so sure.
And so, the decision was made: the Eastern Mercenary King Anu would remain among them.
"Take care of me, young ones," Anu said with a grin.
"How old are you, exactly?" Rem asked skeptically.
"Over a hundred," Anu replied casually.
Though difficult to believe, the claim was no lie. Anu had led mercenaries, explorers, and countless others in founding a kingdom in the East over fifty years ago.
Even now, the man who slew lions with a single sword remained vigorous and unyielding—a living legend.
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