The brawler charged forward, his feet propelling him with spring-like elasticity. From his ankles to his thighs, then through his upper body, the force transferred flawlessly.

He moved terrifyingly fast, but not so fast that it was difficult to react.

Certainly not fast enough to be a match for Rem.

Rem raised the axe in his left hand and feigned a downward slash. Just as the brawler’s punch was about to land, at the exact moment his head would split in two, the attacker’s speed abruptly increased.

A faint afterimage trailed in his wake.

It was a trick to obscure his opponent’s vision through sudden acceleration.

Whoosh!

Rem’s axe cut through empty air.

The brawler closed the gap, pivoted on his right foot, and slammed his left foot down as he thrust his knuckled fist forward.

It was clear from a glance—this man had been properly trained.

And then—Thwack!

“Why would you lean your neck into an axe like that?”

The calmness in Rem’s voice followed the sound of impact.

Enkrid replayed the moment he had just witnessed in his mind.

A charge with a sudden change in tempo.

No one could easily take a blow like that head-on.

At best, most could only dodge it. And once the opponent evaded, the brawler’s strategy would have been to maintain his distance and continue attacking.

Hadn’t Audin once explained?

“Brawlers are masters of controlling distance, Brother.”

The brawler’s charge had been a textbook example of how to gain the upper hand.

Rem’s response, however, was almost indifferent.

Feigning an attack with the axe in his left hand, he swung the axe in his right hand far faster.

It was a similar strategy to the brawler’s, but the results were vastly different.

The axe blade, flying as fast as a ray of light, struck the neck and severed it cleanly.

The headless body lurched forward, its lifeless fist weakly brushing against Rem’s abdomen.

Naturally, it carried no force.

The severed head hung briefly in the air before dropping to the ground with a dull thud.

The body collapsed as Rem, still gripping his axe, lightly pushed it aside with the back of his hand.

“Don’t underestimate him! Stay alert, everyone!”

The man with the bec de corbin shouted, rallying his comrades.

Five men converged on Rem—three wielding tridents and swords, and one toying with daggers.

“Now this is exciting,” Rem said, unfazed by the five opponents. In fact, he seemed to revel in it, even doing a little shoulder dance.

Ragna, meanwhile, placed his hand on his sword hilt and walked calmly toward the man with the bec de corbin.

“Kill him!” the man bellowed.

At that moment, the woman perched on the tree branch fired a projectile.

Ping!

A short arrow aimed for Ragna’s shoulder.

Ragna twisted his body, dodging the arrow effortlessly. In one fluid motion, as if he had rehearsed it, he drew his sword.

Sching.

The blade’s arc was smooth and natural, as if it were meant to be.

When Ragna swung his sword in a wide arc, the man with the bec de corbin raised his weapon to block it.

Clang!

“Ugh!”

Perhaps the man had underestimated the force behind the strike, for his body tilted slightly to the side.

Then, another ping rang out as a second arrow shot toward Ragna.

Naturally, Ragna dodged again. The arrow struck a stone on the ground, bouncing off with a sharp noise.

“Up there.”

Even Enkrid could see where the arrows were coming from. The archer was perched in a tree, using a wrist-mounted device to fire.

Enkrid began to move.

Though he didn’t have a Whistle Dagger, he had learned a proper throwing technique.

Focusing for a moment, he calculated the distance and angle to his target, then flicked his left hand.

Though he usually wielded his sword in his right hand, his left hand had become just as adept.

Guided by precision and sharp senses, the dagger flew through the air.

The archer, moving like a monkey, swung from the branches and flipped upside down to dodge.

Thunk!

The dagger embedded itself in the thick trunk of the tree where the archer had been.

“Kill him, Lummt!”

The man with the bec de corbin shouted, and a figure stepped toward Enkrid.

This new opponent carried two daggers.

Lummt’s eyes briefly scanned Enkrid’s waist, where he had hung the daggers he’d taken from the fallen escort.

“That dagger...,” Lummt began.

“A gift,” Enkrid interrupted before Lummt could finish.

The response, delivered without hesitation, made Lummt scowl.

His sparse eyebrows and unusually small irises gave him a menacing appearance.

But menacing looks and skill were two different matters.

“Just another mercenary face,” Enkrid thought.

Among mercenaries, it wasn’t uncommon to see faces adorned with scars, exuding intimidation.

“That was one of my students.”

Lummt, likely in his forties, had an aura of battle-hardened experience. For someone of his age to still be fighting on the frontlines, he must have been formidable.

Enkrid’s heart pounded in anticipation.

If this man had trained the escort, he was likely better than his former student.

Perhaps even stronger than the Gnoll leader Enkrid had faced before.

A strange excitement filled him, accompanied by a quiet hope.

“Are you going to take him alone?”

Rem faced five opponents, Ragna had three, and Enkrid had one.

The last enemy was still darting between tree branches.

Rem, wielding his axe with a grin, seemed to be enjoying his fight against five opponents.

The five, however, were cautious. They had seen how easily Rem had dispatched their comrade.

The man with the bec de corbin was similarly cautious. With the numerical advantage, slow encirclement was the best strategy.

“Once I’ve killed you, I’ll rip that beastwoman in half,” Lummt growled.

Whether he was somehow connected to the fallen escort or simply furious, his rage was evident.

Yet he didn’t rush in. His composure spoke of experience, not hesitation.

Enkrid wasn’t inclined to wait.

He launched himself forward, recalling the insights Ragna had shared about swordsmanship.

Focusing intently, Enkrid sharpened his senses.

The murderous intent radiating from Lummt pricked at his skin like needles.

As Enkrid charged, Lummt moved both hands.

They were fast—terrifyingly fast.

His twin daggers flashed through the air, creating the illusion of multiple blades.

Enkrid kept his stance in the standard form, aiming to parry and counter.

As Lummt’s daggers closed in, Enkrid deflected them with his sword, angling for a counterthrust.

Clang!

 

It was a deflection enhanced by skill, not raw power.

A technique that disrupted the opponent’s balance by striking the center of their blade.

Enkrid couldn’t pierce his intended target. The tip of his sword wavered as the blade slid off course. In the moment the sword veered away, the opponent closed the distance, thrusting a dagger upward.

The trajectory was sudden and out of sight.

From below to above.

Enkrid, sensing the blade's approach purely through instinct, planted strength in his left big toe and halted his movement.

With a clunk, his body froze mid-motion.

As he pulled his elbow back to block the incoming dagger with his arm guard, the dagger twisted like a serpent, aiming for his chin.

Erratic, swift, and bold.

Enkrid leaned his head back. The blade’s tip grazed his chin with a nick.

Retracting his extended sword, he pulled it back just as the opponent rolled sideways to evade.

The opponent crossed two daggers in front of himself, staring at Enkrid with a look that seemed to ask:

"You dodged that?"

Enkrid nonchalantly pointed his sword forward again.

Why wouldn’t he dodge?

To be honest, if it had been before he’d honed his evasive instincts, that strike might have sent him to the grave.

But once he recognized it, his body reacted automatically.

A worthy opponent, indeed. But something felt lacking.

The gaps in his technique were visible.

Certainly, the skill difference was stark compared to the beasts who had accompanied Dunbakel.

"Above exceptional, below a knight-in-training," Enkrid assessed the opponent’s skill level.

With that thought, Enkrid thrust his sword forward once more.

The daggers came flying again.

This was a move he had seen before.

Thump!

The battles in the Gnoll fields had taught him more than just evasive instincts.

His swordsmanship had also improved, and he now wielded the Heart of Might.

Awakening his heart channeled immense power throughout his body.

Shifting his weight onto his left foot, he pressed forward as if driving downwards. Strength surged, a force the opponent couldn’t gauge or predict.

Concentration and heightened senses allowed Enkrid to see the approaching daggers not as blurry afterimages but as distinct, isolated moments.

Clang!

Sparks flew as the dagger struck the surface of his blade. But that was where it ended. For a technique to succeed, it required at least comparable strength.

The dagger neither deflected nor pushed back Enkrid’s blade.

It was crushed by overwhelming power.

In the slowed-down perception of time, Enkrid caught the expression in the opponent’s eyes—shock.

Without hesitation, Enkrid thrust his sword forward.

Thunk.

The leather armor protecting the opponent's chest tore as the blade passed through. Even as the opponent twisted in an attempt to redirect the blow, Enkrid’s sword was of too fine a quality.

The tip tore mercilessly through the leather.

Cutting the flesh and muscle beneath was effortless.

Starting below the collarbone, the blade pierced diagonally. Enkrid pulled it out swiftly, releasing a gush of blood.

Ping!

A short arrow shot toward Enkrid, aiming for him.

Ragna treated the incoming attack as part of a seamless motion, dodging it effortlessly.

Enkrid mimicked him.

Pivoting on his left foot, Enkrid rotated his body to avoid the arrow. The brief movement concealed the start and end of his own action as he flung a dagger in return.

Whoosh!

The knife flew straight and struck the thigh of the female thief perched on a tree branch.

"Gah!"

The monkey-like thief froze in place.

Enkrid’s fight ended quickly.

Why wouldn’t it? It was over in just two exchanges of attack and defense.

Enkrid’s gaze naturally shifted to Rem and Ragna.

As expected, the two were dominating their opponents.

Those who boasted of being able to slay knight-in-training-level opponents only if the situation favored them.

The difference in skill was unmistakable.

The reason for their defeat was clear—ignorance.

They didn’t know Enkrid or the Mad Platoon.

And because they didn’t know, they had to suffer the consequences.

Enkrid’s eyes moved to Ragna.

Fwoosh.

The barbed spear feigned a thrust before swinging horizontally. Ragna adjusted his sword to match.

Blocking? No.

Clang! Ka-ga-gaak.

"Bind."

Using the flat of his sword to avoid damaging the blade, Ragna twisted the spear and locked it with his sword.

Moments later, a rapier and a spear came flying from both sides toward Ragna.

Both opponents relied on speed as their weapon of choice.

The two female thieves wielding these weapons attacked with deadly precision.

In a brief instant, Ragna combined several movements into one fluid sequence.

First, gripping his sword with both hands, he lifted it to the left and upward, coiling it to block the spear while maintaining the bind.

Tilting the spear’s trajectory, he thrust forward—not too fast, not too slow.

As he stepped forward while guiding his sword, the rapier and spear missed his original position, crossing behind him.

The spear-wielding thief clenched his teeth and withdrew his weapon, parrying Ragna’s thrust. But Ragna didn’t apply unnecessary strength, stepping in closer.

This time, the tip of his blade aimed for the left side of the opponent’s head. Though the thief bent backward to avoid it, he couldn’t evade completely.

Slash.

A chilling sound accompanied the partial severing of the thief’s ear.

Blood poured down the thief’s left face, trickling in crimson streams.

Meanwhile, the two remaining female thieves accelerated their attacks.

The rapier danced toward Ragna, and the spear-wielding thief swept the ground with a wide swing.

Ragna reclaimed his sword immediately after cutting the ear. Blocking the rapier’s trajectory with the flat of his blade, he leapt sideways to escape the range of the sweeping spear.

It was a seamless blend of precise swordsmanship and extraordinary spatial control.

"Why?"

Watching this, Enkrid found himself questioning. It felt as though Ragna was fighting with the intent to reveal something.

Realization struck moments after the question arose.

"He’s demonstrating."

What is swordsmanship, after all?

Every movement had a purpose.

Ragna’s evasions carried a deeper meaning. By positioning himself on the thief’s right, he forced the rapier-wielding thief to face him through her ally.

With no hesitation, Ragna launched a precise one-handed thrust.

This time, it was neither fast nor slow.

To put it more clearly:

"Just enough for the opponent to block."

Enkrid’s eyes darted around. His mind raced faster.

Ragna’s every move was a lesson. A masterclass in swordsmanship that could not be missed.

But Ragna wasn’t the only one. Rem was doing something similar.

"Tss-ah!"

With an unusual shout, Rem swung his axe vertically. The approaching thief attempted to block it with a longsword.

Bang!

The sword shattered in one blow.

"Damn it! My axe is premium!"

It certainly was—a weapon they’d scavenged from a mercenary in a previous battle.

Rem fought with deliberate restraint. Like Ragna, he focused on showing his technique.

While Ragna emphasized precision and the essence of swordsmanship, Rem demonstrated the art of using superior strength to dominate.

Watching them, Enkrid came to a sudden realization.

"Those two are better at teaching with actions than words."

Even in this brief moment, he already understood what they were trying to convey.

Indeed, it was crystal clear.