The difference was clear.

One side spoke of technique, form, and meaning.
The other demonstrated how to overwhelm with superior strength.

One emphasized swordsmanship, while the other relied on primal instinct.

Both were important. Both were necessary.

It wasn’t as though Ragna never employed instinctive moves, nor did Rem avoid borrowing from the formalities of swordsmanship.

"Their traits are just distinct."

And thus, there was much to learn from them.

There was also a commonality between the two.

Whether it was swordsmanship, instinct, footwork, attack, or defense:

"Precision."

It was as if they were stitching with needles, or spearing a single grain of wheat with a fork.

Even as they fought, both displayed an incredible precision, constantly adjusting their stances, hand movements, and steps with meticulous care.

"These bastards…"

The outcome had long been decided.

The barbed spear wielder’s complexion darkened, his face etched with despair.

His murmured voice was drained of strength, as if he had resigned himself to death.

He had fully realized the vast difference in skill.

The same could be said for the five men fighting Rem.

Two of them had broken their swords and resorted to drawing short blades. One had tried to throw a dagger while exploiting an opening, only to end up with his own dagger embedded between his eyes.

The man who fell dead first had initially trembled but was now growing cold, his body stiffening.

Of the remaining four, one had lost an arm.

And this was all happening despite Rem deliberately holding back to demonstrate techniques to Enkrid.

Meanwhile, the female thief perched in the tree, trying to fire her arrows despite a dagger lodged in her thigh, hesitated every time she felt Enkrid’s gaze.

Irritated, Enkrid threw another dagger, this time striking her arm.

With so much to observe from Ragna and Rem, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

"Ughhh…"

The thief groaned from the treetop, her voice thick with pain.

The barbed spear wielder, his blood vessels rupturing and his eyes filling with blood, charged at Ragna one last time.

In his final act of desperation, he threw his spear and tried to grapple Ragna.

But at that moment, Ragna revealed his true specialty—not the refined swordsmanship he had displayed earlier.

The blade of his arming sword shimmered like a ray of light as it sliced diagonally through the thief’s body. A Middle Stance Cleave.

Combining strength and technique, the man’s body was cut like straw.

Ragna shifted instantly, delivering a punch to the face of the rapier-wielding woman beside him.

Thud!

"Guhh!"

Several teeth flew into the air.

The woman, clutching her face, staggered backward, only for Ragna to follow with a horizontal slash.

Shrrk!

Her head soared through the air.

Ragna didn’t stop there.

As if trading roles with Rem, he abandoned his earlier precise swordplay in favor of rough yet meticulous, forceful yet refined moves from the Middle Stance.

"Kyaah!"

The dark-skinned female thief—easily mistaken for a man at first glance—lunged with her spear.

Ragna sidestepped it with uncanny accuracy.

His ability to read the trajectory and speed of the incoming spear allowed him to execute such a feat.

He stepped forward with bold footwork, following through with an overhead strike.

The Middle Stance Severing Slash struck her head squarely.

Crack!

Her skull crumpled like a bruised apple.

And with that, it was over.

They were all dead.

Having finished his task, Ragna calmly shook the blood from his sword before turning his gaze toward Enkrid.

"Did you see that?"

He didn’t say the words, but Enkrid could feel their weight in his stare.

Enkrid nodded in acknowledgment.

The precision, the meaning of swordsmanship, and the power that form provides—this was a signpost pointing the way forward.

Enkrid found himself profoundly grateful. And it wasn’t just Ragna.

"Why did you finish first?!"

It wasn’t clear why Rem was angry, but he suddenly burst out in frustration, swinging his axe wildly.

A few powerful blows sent his opponents scrambling into a defensive position.

Another thief’s eyes darted around nervously—clearly plotting something.

Sensing this, Rem stopped his relentless assault and began to swing his axe in deliberate, measured movements.

"Footwork, gestures, posture."

The axe came down.

Not to kill, but to provoke.

Enkrid noticed, but the thieves did not.

One of them, wielding a trident, raised it high to block the axe.

At that moment, another thief darted to the side and opened his mouth.

"Pffft!"

It was poison sand, spewed from his mouth. A last-ditch effort.

But Rem, as if expecting it, stepped back in a pre-prepared motion.

"You bastard."

The thief, his lips now blue, muttered in frustration.

Rem smirked.

"Too obvious, punk."

And with that, his axe danced, slicing through the thief’s neck.

Another thief suddenly stabbed his fallen comrade in the throat before throwing himself to the ground.

"Please spare me! I’ll tell you everything!"

His desperate plea was pathetic.

"Oh? You’ll tell me everything, huh?"

Rem grinned, his ears seemingly attuned to only what he wanted to hear.

"Uh… y-yes?"

"Where should I start? Your hands? Your feet?"

"W-what?"

"I’ll dice you up. Bit by bit."

Rem gestured with his thumb and forefinger, showing a small gap.

"What…?"

The thief didn’t comprehend.

Rem, smiling all the while, swung his axe.

Wham! Thud.

The thief’s head flew off, and his body crumpled.

"Just kidding. I’m not into that kind of thing."

It felt like he could be, though.

Enkrid thought so as he watched Rem.

Rem turned to him and asked, "Did you see that?"

The intention behind the question was clear.

Both Ragna and Rem had been deliberately fighting slowly to show their captain what they could do.

"These two…"

How far could they go if they truly revealed their full potential?

Whenever Enkrid thought he had caught up, they always seemed to move further ahead.

When he first met them, he had thought they were merely high-ranking soldiers.

When he reached that level, he realized their skills couldn’t be categorized within the standard ranks.

When he surpassed the exceptional level, aiming for knighthood, he realized:

"They’re strong enough to kill a knight-in-training."

At minimum, their abilities were on par with that level.

Rem had once said he couldn’t kill every knight-in-training, but…

Enkrid doubted that.

When Rem had said those words, it felt like he was implying that, given the right circumstances, he could kill anyone.

It wasn’t arrogance or overconfidence—it was the attitude of someone who fully understood reality.

Ragna shared the same mindset.

As did Audin and Jaxon.

The four of them were monsters.

Enkrid marveled at his luck.

"Four monsters."

Four teachers.

Fourfold the lessons to learn.

"This is incredible."

As Enkrid nodded in silent admiration, Dunbakel, who had been watching the entire fight, stood with her mouth agape.

Drip.

Drool spilled onto the ground.

So astonished was she that she didn’t even realize her mouth was open.

"The Black Blade Ten."

The ten elite mercenaries who could handle almost any task.

Yet, they were the ones being fought.

The barbed spear wielder had been a famous mercenary before switching sides.

He had boasted that he could take on anyone below a knight-in-training and had survived a duel with a knight’s squire, earning his reputation.

"They toyed with him."

Dunbakel, observing Ragna’s swordsmanship, saw clearly that he wasn’t ordinary.

No, it was more than that—they had outright played with their opponents.

Realizing her own inability to measure their skill, Dunbakel stood in awe.

"Close your mouth. You reek."

Rem’s voice jolted her out of her stupor.

Startled, she quickly shut her mouth.

Enkrid approached the female thief lying on the ground, her thigh and arm riddled with wounds.

The woman writhed like a worm under the tree and spoke desperately:

"I… I can do well. If you spare me, I’ll… huh? Really, I swear!"

Her bulky frame was at odds with her pleading tone.

The word "female thief" might conjure images of a beautiful woman, but that was a fantasy for fools.

This woman was as thief-like as they came.

Her blackened teeth—some of which were missing—her rough, blood-stained skin, and her foul-smelling eyes were all proof of that.

A stench of sweat and unwashed grime mingled with the sharp odor of urine.

The thief, who had wet herself, stared up at Enkrid.

What should he see in her eyes? Hope for life? Or desperation to survive?

Enkrid recalled sparing Dunbakel earlier after seeing something different in her gaze.

But now?

Thrust.

He drove his sword into her neck.

Her pleas for mercy were no different from demands for healing.

Her injuries were severe—beyond what simple treatment could address.

The daggers lodged in her thigh and arm had severed critical muscles, leaving her unable to move.

To save her would have required a high-ranking priest and a great deal of effort.

But she was a thief—a member of the Black Blades, no matter how fanciful their name.

They were merely brigands, not some grand organization.

Enkrid retrieved his sword.

He held no lingering doubts, nor did he feel burdened.

As he turned away, Rem asked: "So, is that it?"

His earlier ferocity seemed to have waned somewhat.

"This group’s base must be in complete chaos now," Enkrid replied.

"What do you mean?"

Rem tilted his head, and Ragna followed up with a question.

Enkrid wasn’t naive.

Even before Kraiss had explained things, he had already picked up on the atmosphere.

Why wouldn’t he?

From the moment they had left, the barracks had been in disarray.

Even those less perceptive had noticed something was off.

Venzance, in particular, had been suspicious enough to ask:

"Doesn’t it feel like something’s brewing? Things seem a bit strange."

And he wasn’t wrong.

A certain detachment had gone entirely silent—specifically, the Border Defense Unit.

Despite their name, they were more of a special operations force than mere defenders.

The commander of the unit, while officially holding the rank of company captain, was effectively second only to Battalion Commander Marcus in authority.

"So it’s obvious who would mobilize them."

And with Kraiss’s keen observations, Enkrid’s suspicions had been confirmed.

"Marcus is bold."

When had the battalion commander become his "friend"? That was beside the point.

"It looks like Marcus plans to wipe out the Black Blades first, distracting attention elsewhere."

Kraiss’s eyes had turned to Enkrid as he spoke.

There was no need to guess who the bait was.

"He strikes from behind. Brilliant. Is this guy a tactician or what?"

Kraiss’s ability to piece it all together had been astonishing.

And so, Enkrid concluded that the Black Blade base would be in far worse disarray than they had imagined.

Both Enkrid’s instincts and Kraiss’s predictions were spot-on.

***

"Do you think you can openly survive in this land after making enemies of the Black Blade?"

The branch leader, coughing up blood, spat out his words. Bright red blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin. He looked as though his insides were burning—not just figuratively, but physically, as the damage to his organs caused searing pain.

"I couldn’t care less."

The Border Defense Captain replied nonchalantly, spinning a knife in his hand.

The blade twirled and reflected the flickering torchlight with a sharp, menacing gleam. It was a knife so deadly sharp that its mere presence felt chilling.

The captain didn’t trust his opponent, suspecting that he might have hidden tricks up his sleeve.

For that reason, there was no need to close the distance unnecessarily.

"You kingdom dogs."

The branch leader’s voice dripped with venomous resentment. Whatever circumstances had led to this hatred, it was of no concern to the captain.

The knife in the captain’s hand sliced through the air.

Thud!

The flying knife struck dead center between the branch leader’s eyes. His body collapsed backward with a loud thud as it hit the ground.

"Take everything worth keeping and burn the rest."

This incident unfolded while Enkrid was on his way to ambush another site, in the midst of a fierce battle.

The Border Defense Captain, leading his troops, moved under the cover of night.

The Border Defense Unit excelled at operations like this.

While the Black Blade’s attention was focused on the front—specifically on Vancento, that halfwit noble, and Enkrid—the unit closed in as much as possible and launched a direct assault on the Black Blade’s headquarters.

Their base was set up on a mountainside, a stronghold built to fend off not only humans but also monsters. The defenses were solid.

"But no matter how sturdy the defenses, they’re useless if the forces behind them are weak."

Most of their main forces were absent. The so-called Black Blade Ten were nowhere to be seen.

"What about the ones who fled?"

"They know this terrain too well; we lost them."

"That’s bad."

As the Border Defense Captain climbed through the Black Blade’s mountain stronghold and searched every nook and cranny of the treasure-filled caves, over twenty enemies had escaped.

Among them, the one leading the group appeared to be skilled but didn’t hesitate to flee.

"If it was under the leader’s orders…"

This hinted that the Black Blade was no ordinary band of thieves—another sign of their structured and disciplined hierarchy.

Still, what was done was done. Rather than dwell on the ones who got away, the captain chose to focus on their success.

"We won."

Marcus’s strategy had worked perfectly.

***

One of the fleeing members of the Black Blade had been dispatched from the headquarters.

"An attack. This branch is finished."

The fugitive racked his brain, searching for the best way to escape.

"The Black Blade Ten."

The structure established at headquarters was mirrored in the branches.

This branch had deployed its ten elite fighters for an ambush.

It seemed the branch leader, in his desperation to avoid failure, had committed more forces than necessary.

And because of that, the headquarters had been left defenseless and easily overrun.

Leaving the blazing mountain stronghold behind, the fleeing man sprinted toward the ambush site.

Roughly twenty other bandits followed in his wake.

The plan was simple: regroup with the Black Blade Ten at the ambush site, escape together, and report back to headquarters.

Huff, huff!

His breath was labored, tinged with fear, as he pushed through a shortcut—a rugged mountain path.

The escape route was a cleverly hidden forest trail.

After battling through the treacherous terrain, they finally arrived at the ambush site.

What they saw froze them in their tracks.

"This will do nicely."

Standing amidst the corpses, rifling through the belongings of the dead, were three figures.

One had black hair, another gray, and the third, golden blond.

"Dunbakel?"

Among them was someone the fleeing man recognized—a beastwoman he had once hired as a mercenary.

The first to notice him was the gray-haired one.

"Boss, we’ve got a gift here."

The gray-haired man grinned as he spoke, his voice brimming with amusement.