Chapter 126 - Today's Victory Does Not Guarantee Tomorrow's Victory (2)
Chapter 126 - Today's Victory Does Not Guarantee Tomorrow's Victory (2)
Flames ignited in Ragna's eyes.
Determination, desire, or something else.
Before Enkrid could even finish his thoughts—
Whoosh.
The sound of air splitting reached his ears first.
The moment he heard it, the blade was already above his head. Enkrid moved as well.
He held his sword horizontally, its blade forged from a mix of Valerian steel and Noir wrought iron, meeting the crude, poorly crafted arming sword head-on.
Clang.
Blade met blade.
A sharp sound burst forth.
And just as quickly as they clashed, they separated.
Ragna took a step back, and Enkrid mirrored him.
It was like an exchange of greetings through the sword.
Yet, even in this mere greeting, Enkrid felt as though he had witnessed something entirely new.
'What should I call that just now?'
An incredibly fast strike?
Or a cut devoid of any presence?
It was exquisite—beautiful and exceptional.
Ragna's swordsmanship was that precise and clean.
His own response, however, was the complete opposite.
It was not clean.
It was rough, unrefined—like a dull, unpolished blade.
Like untanned, coarse leather.
And yet, he had seen it.
And his body had reacted.
"Again."
Ragna spoke.
His blade flew in with the exact same trajectory, seemingly identical to the previous strike.
A clean and beautiful slash.
Enkrid blocked in the same stance.
Clang!
Sparks flew as their blades met.
Buzz—
In the instant their swords collided again, Ragna's blade vanished.
'He severed the strike the moment he swung.'
Ragna wielded his sword with absolute control.
Even now, what he demonstrated was the same.
It looked like a smooth downward slash, but it was a precise, forceful cut.
Enkrid had blocked it horizontally, yet his arms buzzed with numbness.
In that brief moment, Ragna's sword curved like a snake and struck downward.
It aimed for his thigh.
With just one severed cut, his arms were left tingling.
He was about to be struck.
Should he force his numbed arms to move? No, that would be a mistake.
Instead of using his hands, Enkrid used his feet, jumping backward to reposition himself advantageously.
Pulling his right foot back and twisting his body would place him at Ragna's flank.
But Ragna was not idle.
He smoothly retracted his sword mid-swing and sidestepped.
Swish.
Their movements scraped against the ground.
At the end of that motion, they once again stood face-to-face.
If what filled Ragna's eyes was passion—
Then what filled Enkrid's eyes in contrast?
'Those eyes.'
Ragna's desire boiled over.
His fighting spirit surged.
He wanted to swing his sword.
Not with words or speech—
But with his hands, his feet.
With his sword, his weapon, his killing intent, his will.
He wanted to converse through those things.
And Enkrid did not reject the idea.
'Good. This is good.'
Ragna marveled inwardly.
Amidst their brief exchange, Enkrid felt something within him explode.
The greeting through the sword, the severed cuts, the contest for positioning—
All of it blended together, stirring something deep within his chest.
And then, something surged throughout his entire body.
How should he describe this feeling?
Vitality?
Energy?
He didn't know.
The only thing certain was that his strength was overflowing.
The greeting and the severed cuts had confirmed the condition of his wrists.
Though there was still a lingering weight from the impact, there was no pain.
'I'm fine.'
Then there was only one thing left to do—
It was Enkrid's turn now.
He lunged with all his might, pouring his resolve into the thrust.
His left foot shot forward, and in a single motion, he hurled his sword forward.
Like a falcon diving from the sky, the tip of his blade sliced through the air.
Ragna twisted his body as he watched the incoming sword tip.
Though his movements were not flashy, he evaded Enkrid's thrust effortlessly.
As he dodged, Ragna smiled.
And as he watched Ragna evade, Enkrid also smiled in satisfaction.
To an observer, it may have seemed like a simple, repetitive exchange.
A cycle of thrusting, slashing, dodging, and repositioning.
Tap.
Enkrid's attacks were unpredictable.
At times, he suddenly closed the distance to kick at Ragna's shin.
When Ragna evaded, Enkrid immediately switched to a half-swording stance, gripping both the ricasso and the blade to grapple.
Ragna deflected, sidestepped, and avoided every move before countering with his sword.
He swung.
And swung.
And swung again.
As if that was all he knew.
'Damn it.'
Watching this, Rem stomped his feet impatiently.
'That looks so damn fun.'
Enkrid had grown stronger again.
In just a few days of absence, something had changed.
Rem wanted to fight him.
He wanted to face Enkrid when his wrists were in perfect condition.
Just watching filled him with an overwhelming urge.
'Take it easy, damn it.'
Rem grew anxious.
Would Enkrid burn through all his stamina fighting Ragna?
That had never happened before, but something about this duel felt different.
There was a different atmosphere compared to their previous spar when Enkrid's wrist had been injured.
Back then, they had all taken it lightly—Rem included.
But now?
'That bastard is actually being serious, isn't he?'
Rem could tell from Ragna's swordsmanship.
It wasn't as lackadaisical as usual.
Maybe not as serious as when he fought Rem, but it wasn't the lazy swordplay of before.
If Ragna had put even half this effort against their enemies, every commander on the opposing side would have burned his name into their memory.
'Damn it, ease up already.'
Rem's hands itched.
If they hadn't been smiling, he would have grabbed his axe and jumped in already.
And he wasn't the only one whose body was heating up.
'Why?'
Jaxen tried to suppress the feeling rising within him.
Had he ever enjoyed fighting on the frontlines?
No.
Never.
He had always trained diligently in swordsmanship, but was it ever driven by passion?
No.
Training and moving with desire were entirely different things.
At least, for Jaxen, they had always been.
Twitch.
His hand kept trying to move.
Every step Enkrid took, every sword stroke his so-called "squad leader" made—his body responded involuntarily.
'This is ridiculous.'
Why was he suddenly feeling such a competitive spirit?
No matter how much Enkrid had improved, Jaxen was confident he could take him down right now.
Because in his eyes, Ragna—
That lazy fool—
Was still holding back.
If he were truly serious, this match would have ended long ago.
And yet, why was his body reacting to this fight?
Jaxen clenched his teeth, feeling strangely humiliated.
Forcing himself to remain still, he reined in his impulses and simply watched.
While Jaxen restrained himself, Audin observed with delight.
He was pleased.
'It's about time.'
He, too, could start getting serious.
Unlike the others, he neither felt rushed nor denied the rising competitive spirit within him.
"Because it was given by the Lord."
The desire to struggle was both beneficial and good for Audin.
Without it, he wouldn't be standing by Enkrid's side right now—he'd be with the god he served.
Even after suffering two days of excruciating headaches as the price for using divinity, Audin felt satisfied deep down.
Just look at that.
Watching the squad leader move effortlessly despite his intact body filled him with admiration.
The fairy company commander didn't miss a single movement Enkrid and Ragna made.
And a thought arose.
'Was he a genius?'
A natural question.
He hadn't been this skilled before.
Their first meeting in the medical barracks.
He recalled the moments he had faced Enkrid afterward.
'I thought it was just luck.'
But now, even his swordsmanship was something that couldn't be ignored.
Even in her eyes, he stood out—like a lone crane among countless chickens, possessing a level of skill that was undeniable.
From what she had observed, it could be said that he was a genius who had risen to this level in a short period.
'No, this is different.'
Her sharp eyes detected flaws in Enkrid's movements—habits that a true genius wouldn't have.
At times, a fairy's perception could be sharper than a Frog's ability to discern talent.
The traces of endless sword swings and relentless contemplation—signs that only those who had trained tirelessly for a long time possessed—could be seen in Enkrid.
Do geniuses bear such marks?
No.
Ragna was a genius.
There was no hesitation in his sword swings.
That was the hallmark of a true genius.
Then what about Enkrid?
"Hah!"
At that moment, Enkrid let out a sharp cry and attempted a downward strike with one hand.
A blade filled with the thoughts of countless repetitions of the same movement.
A trajectory refined through experience, knowing that this was the only path to the goal.
Clang!
Their swords clashed.
The sharp sound echoed as Enkrid's blade slid off Ragna's sword.
A feint?
The fairy's intuition was precise.
Ragna applied force, repelling Enkrid's sword.
Then, in one swift motion, he thrust his blade forward in a short vertical slash.
In that brief instant, Enkrid's left hand emitted a flash of light—a bluish glow, something that formed at his waist, forged magic slicing through the sunlight.
A second sword.
Whoosh!
Ultimately, Enkrid's sword cut through empty air.
The second blade had been drawn at a terrifying speed, but in that fleeting moment, Ragna had already seen everything.
He simply stepped back to evade the attack.
A perfectly calculated retreat.
Enkrid's second blade merely cut through the air in front of Ragna.
Then, Ragna swung down his retracted sword.
An attack that disrupted timing and shattered the feint.
It wasn't merely a battle of wits.
This was the difference in ability.
Because battle required more than just strength.
Perception, instincts, experience, swordsmanship.
Ragna had seen and sensed Enkrid's left hand move.
And before Enkrid could react, Ragna had already moved his feet and hands at an imperceptible speed.
Thus, the spar ended.
Seeing the fight conclude, the fairy company commander grew restless.
'I want to fight too.'
Would she be without competitive spirit?
Before, it had only been a test of hands and feet.
Now, she wanted to cross swords.
And this time, with some sincerity mixed in.
A sudden urge surged within her—to show the mystical techniques that came with her years of age.
How would Enkrid change upon witnessing that?
Krais, who had been watching from the sidelines, felt no such competitiveness.
How could he, when he couldn't even fully follow their movements?
'He's improved.'
Even as an outsider to swordsmanship, Krais could tell that Enkrid's skills had skyrocketed.
'A late-blooming genius?'
Surprising, but that was the extent of it.
His interest quickly shifted from the spar to his surroundings.
It was an entertaining scene.
Rem stood up and sat back down three times before resorting to stomping his feet.
Like a child who had their favorite toy snatched away, he was visibly restless.
Beside him, Jaxen twitched his shoulders a few times before suddenly freezing—like a heavy stone statue.
Krais wondered if he was even breathing.
How could someone remain that still, like ice?
Watching it sent chills down his spine.
It felt like being left alone in a graveyard at midnight.
'Ugh.'
Krais clicked his tongue and shifted his gaze to Audin.
The devout giant soldier was standing there with a pleased smile, murmuring to himself.
Krais stepped closer to catch what he was saying.
"Hmm, this is good. Now, it will be a worthwhile fight."
"A broken arm or two should be fine."
"Snapping a neck—ah, I almost sent him to the Lord prematurely. That won't do. No, that would be unacceptable."
This time, Krais was genuinely terrified.
Goosebumps ran down his skin.
What the hell was he saying?
Though his words were unnerving, Audin didn't seem ready to jump in just yet.
His tone was terrifying, but his demeanor remained calm.
Audin simply stood in place.
Lastly, there was the fairy company commander.
The fairy, who usually made sly remarks, gripped her sword without taking her eyes off Enkrid.
She was like a tranquil forest—yet a storm that could rise at any moment.
That was Krais's impression.
These people were something else.
No crowd had gathered.
Days after their victory, the high morale had settled.
With the possibility of another battle looming, everyone was busy with personal maintenance.
A few soldiers turned their heads to watch, but none paid much attention.
After all, they had already witnessed Enkrid's skill when he returned from the rear.
For those who hadn't seen the previous spar, the difference wasn't significant.
The keen-eyed were occupied.
And the rest simply weren't interested.
There were no loud spectators.
Nor did the looming battle in the air concern them.
Despite knowing they'd soon step onto the battlefield—
'And yet, they're all desperate to fight each other.'
And their target was the same.
Enkrid, their squad leader, who had only just recovered from his injuries.
'Do they even think?'
Even so, Krais didn't reprimand them.
He avoided interfering on a normal day, and now, even more so.
The heat rising among them was no joke.
'Will he be okay?'
The spar with Ragna had been intense.
Wouldn't it be best to rest now?
But if Enkrid said he would, Rem would undoubtedly throw a fit.
And the others wouldn't be pleased either.
Krais's worries were unnecessary.
"Next."
Enkrid, drenched in sweat, grinned widely.
His body brimming with energy, he wanted nothing more than to keep moving.
At those words, Rem leaped.
He actually shot off the ground and charged forward.
"My turn! My turn! I'll kill anyone who tries to cut in! Even you, company commander!"
Rem's eyes were wild.
The company commander hesitated before stepping back.
A rare moment of concession.