Enkrid didn’t bother counting the number of enemies.

All he could do was swing his sword, over and over again.

The monsters surged endlessly, and the screams of humans echoed one after another.

At some point, the screams faded, leaving only the stench of blood and the guttural howls of monsters and beasts.

The battle that began at dawn had stretched into noon, the sun now glaring directly overhead.

Enkrid couldn’t block every attack.

A hyena monster’s decapitated head was still latched onto his left thigh, its fangs embedded deep.

His left arm hung limp, useless.

Though his right hand remained functional, his right foot wasn’t as fortunate—his toes had been crushed under a hammer strike, leaving him unsteady and swaying.

Even with his vision blurring, the monsters kept coming.

“Grarrgh!”

There were no cries for help anymore.

The desperate screams he had heard earlier had been snuffed out.

Dragging his injured body, Enkrid swung his sword.

The overuse of his Heart of Might had taken its toll, his entire body screaming in agony.

From dawn to midday, for nearly half a day, he had single-handedly cut down gnolls and hyena beasts.

The number he had slain exceeded a hundred.

If anyone had seen it, if anyone had known...

They would have been horrified.

But there was no one left.

He was the only survivor.

“Ah, Kraiss.”

Taking a step back, Enkrid’s foot caught on something.

A corpse.

A body, its stomach slashed open, intestines spilling out.

A familiar face.

Kraiss, the wide-eyed one, lay lifeless.

His face was mangled, a deep bite mark across his cheek.

He had always boasted that his face was his greatest asset.

"Not anymore," Enkrid thought grimly.

Finn, on the other hand, had gone out for patrols.

Checking the surrounding terrain had likely saved her life.

If she saw this, she would surely flee. At least Finn wouldn’t die here.

As for the others? Dead. All of them, probably.

The day had repeated its grim cycle.

It was a wall—a wall he could neither climb nor break.

He didn’t need the boatman’s mocking voice to tell him that much.

But he could already hear it, teasing him in his mind.

“So you thought you could overcome your limits with sword practice? Let’s see how you fare, suffocating, surrounded by monsters and beasts.”

Enkrid exhaled heavily, gripping his sword once more.

“Limits, my ass.”

The gnolls had paused their relentless assault.

“Gruuuk!”

“Guuuuuuk!”

Their howls grew louder, reverberating through the air, vibrating in Enkrid’s eardrums.

The horde parted.

From within, a single gnoll emerged.

It walked hunched, with its neck craned forward, its spine jutting upward in a grotesque arc.

It wasn’t particularly large, nor did it wield any imposing weapon.

In fact, it appeared rather ordinary for a gnoll.

The only notable differences were its bristling fur and an elongated snout.

In its hands, it held twin daggers, their blades glinting ominously in the sunlight.

The gnolls around it howled louder, as if cheering.

The leader’s appearance filled the air with an oppressive energy.

Enkrid felt his arms tremble as he raised his sword.

His overuse of the Heart of Might had left him drained.

“What a pain.”

When Enkrid opened his eyes, it was dawn again.

Without hesitation, he armed himself.

Every piece of equipment, from his second sword to throwing knives and armor, was secured in place.

The weight steadied him.

His noisy preparation woke the others in the cabin.

Exactly as he intended.

“Full armor, first thing in the morning?”

Lua Gharne, ever observant, broke the silence.

“What do you know about the cult?”

His blunt question froze the room.

For once, Lua Gharne’s usual composure wavered.

“Where did you hear about them?”

“During my mercenary days. Briefly.”

“Hmm.”

Her response was heavy, the room thick with tension.

"Can we talk outside?" Lua Gharne spoke, her commanding presence dampened for the moment.

She had no intention of pressing the matter now—she was curious why the topic of the cult had even been brought up.

Outside, Enkrid inspected his equipment.

Everything was in order. Fully armored, he began practicing the Isolation Technique.

The added weight of his gear made every movement burdensome.

The discomfort forced him to correct his posture, and in doing so, he recalled Aoudin’s teachings.

"Training the body is supposed to be uncomfortable."

What a madman.

Discomfort applied to muscles rather than joints—that was the key.

How many hours had he invested in this process? How many days had been dedicated to repetition?

Enkrid quickly adjusted his stance. Today’s practice would be short and intense.

There wasn’t much time.

Lua Gharne stepped outside and saw Enkrid engrossed in his training. It was baffling but unsurprising.

"That’s just the kind of man he is," she thought, shaking her head.

“Why did you suddenly bring up the cult?”

Enkrid glanced at her.

He had encountered cultists before and even participated in purges.

Those lunatics, often tucked away in the dark corners of cities, thrived in damp, shady alleys.

In cities, such matters were usually handled by inquisitors from the church. Mercenaries rarely got involved.

In rural areas, however, village chiefs or headmen sometimes hired mercenaries to deal with cultists.

Enkrid had faced drug-addled madmen who smoked brain-destroying herbs rolled into crude cigarettes.

Half-crazed lunatics.

But the cult Lua Gharne mentioned didn’t seem like that sort of group.

"Suddenly appeared in a dream."

Enkrid’s words were deliberate.

To speak well means to understand the other person’s thoughts, to have sharp instincts, and to be quick-witted.

He knew Lua Gharne’s gaze toward him wasn’t ordinary.

"She doesn’t think I’m sane."

This explanation might suffice—or it wouldn’t, in which case he’d drop the matter.

After all, his interest in the cult was half curiosity and half a hunch that this wasn’t just an ordinary colony of monsters.

The sheer number of enemies made it clear something was abnormal.

"A dream?" Lua Gharne’s eyes narrowed, studying him with growing intrigue.

One reason for her fascination with this man was that his mind didn’t seem entirely intact.

"Fair enough," she thought, accepting it.

The man before her was training even in full armor. How could this be normal?

"Truly worthy of the title ‘mad captain,’" she mused.

“True cultists are dangerous, very dangerous. Even speaking their name recklessly invites trouble,” she warned.

“Understood,” Enkrid replied curtly.

Was that enough of an explanation? Lua Gharne pondered before elaborating.

“Cultists are scattered across the continent, but the most dangerous ones are those who consider the Abyss their holy ground. The Abyss Sanctuary Cult. They’re also known as the Church of the Rebirth, worshippers of the Six Demons.”

This cursory explanation would suffice.

Lua Gharne kept her words brief, and Enkrid felt he had learned enough.

The Abyss Sanctuary Cult, the Church of the Rebirth, worshippers of the Six Demons—it didn’t matter what they were called.

"Are they involved in this somehow?"

He couldn’t ask her directly. He’d piece it together through observation.

Enkrid continued his training.

Watching him, Lua Gharne let out a low grumble.

"Aren’t you hot?" she asked.

Sweat trickled down Enkrid’s forehead.

Yes, it was hot.

Full armor and physical training in this weather—it was bound to look absurd.

“The weight of the armor provides good resistance for muscle conditioning,” Enkrid replied nonchalantly.

As always, his quick wit came through with a plausible explanation.

Lua Gharne decided it made enough sense and let it slide.

Time passed.

Enkrid scanned the area, thinking about how to evacuate Esther or Kraiss if needed.

The thick palisades weren’t easy to climb, and there were two gates—one at the front and one leading to the quarry, surrounded by rocky terrain.

Sending them to the back?

But that gate was tightly sealed.

Kraiss had mentioned that the quarry area was deliberately hidden.

"Are they hiding something?"

Not that it mattered.

Enkrid didn’t push his body too hard this time.

He finished his practice, though sweat still dripped onto the ground.

The morning air was stiflingly warm, and combined with his heavy armor and the exertion of wielding his sword, it was no surprise.

As he waited for the wave of monsters to arrive, a question echoed in his mind:

"What can a lone human do when faced with a tide of monsters?"

It wasn’t the boatman asking.

It was Enkrid questioning himself.

A lone human, standing against overwhelming odds—what could he accomplish?

Plenty.

There were lessons to learn, skills to refine.

In the face of a monster wave, he could train his reflexes, decision-making, and muscle control.

Each clash with multiple enemies was an opportunity to sharpen his crisis management skills.

Everything could be training.

He had realized this while battling the mage Lesha, the werewolf colony, and Azpen’s ambush troops.

He had vowed to use everything, to waste no opportunity, to seize every moment.

And so he did.

Enkrid steeled his resolve.

With the edge of his determination set, he raised his sword once more.

A new day awaited.

Enkrid stood, his back to the breaking dawn.

Boom!

Gruuuk!

The gnolls’ cries shattered the morning calm.