"...Retreat, everyone!"
The Frog General struggled to overcome the overwhelming pressure and finally gave the order.
Knight Jamal was dead.
Could they kill that monster with the remaining forces?
The reason knights were often referred to as calamities was etched deeply into General Frog's being.
Within her breastplate,
it
thrashed violently.
"What? Want to go for more?"
Enkrid withdrew the pressure he had unconsciously released in his excitement and spoke.
Before him, the Frog gripped her weapon tightly, standing frozen.
If he attacked, she would be cut down.
But he didn't look like he would.
It wasn't just her five senses; her heightened intuition and gut feeling told her as much.
Enkrid relished the moment, believing that his fight with Jamal had allowed him to grow further.
He was elated.
The duel with Knight Jamal had been decisive, and there was no need to kill the rest of these soldiers.
A knight who could slay thousands singlehandedly wasn't meant to chase down every soldier and slaughter them one by one.
Such a knight would simply be a blood-crazed lunatic.
"They say the blood-drinking knight will take you."
A phrase often used by parents to frighten unruly children—similar to warnings about monsters or ghouls snatching them away.
Aker once mentioned in passing that the blood-drinking knight was real.
A madman who had indulged in bloodshed, slaughter, and killing for sport.
"Giants have a satisfying crunch, humans are tender and soft, and Frogs are tough, making it interesting."
That's what the madman supposedly said.
Enkrid had no intention of becoming like that.
Was the fight born of necessity, or was it for the thrill of bloodshed?
The distinction mattered.
Behind the Frog, who was sweating profusely with tension, Enkrid sheathed his sword and picked up Jamal's weapon as well.
"I didn't even use the throwing spear,"
he mused as he retrieved the spear he'd leaned against a tree before entering the clearing.
"Not bad."
Training with Aker had made handling Will much more comfortable for him.
Jamal's inability to use his ability to its full potential was understandable.
The Will contained within Enkrid was comparable to the legendary Uske—an inexhaustible lake and an ever-flowing wellspring.
Thinking he could win by wearing it down with his ability was madness.
If Jamal had known Enkrid better, he wouldn't have fought this way.
He would've aimed for a single, decisive strike instead.
Was the lack of information his downfall?
Enkrid habitually began analyzing the battle in hindsight.
"If you grow stronger and faster, you must also learn to use that power more efficiently, no?"
It was advice given by Luagarne.
Enkrid's sparring partners weren't limited to Ragna and Rem.
He remembered the moment she had lightly jabbed his stomach despite his superior strength and vision.
Was it her tactical skill?
Or did he underestimate her because she wasn't a knight?
Neither.
She knew how to fight.
She knew how to make the most of her abilities.
A Frog's body could regenerate, so losing an arm or two didn't matter much to her.
Luagarne had shown him Frog's fighting style—sacrificing flesh to take bones.
It wasn't a fatal blow, but the fact that she landed a hit mattered.
Efficient combat meant utilizing terrain, revisiting the essence of battle, and refining personal tactics.
Enkrid hadn't stopped learning just because he'd become a knight.
He was doing so even now.
He likened his current thought process to the unit-level tactics he had just faced.
Forg's strategy, perhaps?
Sacrificing bones to take flesh, determined to claim even the smallest advantage.
"Go on."
Enkrid spoke to Forg, who was still glaring at him warily.
"...Just go?"
"Is there a reason you must die here?"
If not, wasn't leaving the better option?
The frog hesitated, suspicion evident in her rolling eyes.
Could she really leave?
Doubt filled her mind.
Enkrid allowed her to go.
Killing the Frog wouldn't change the outcome of this battle.
"If this was part of Krais' plan, keeping the sharp ones alive might be better."
Krais, that peculiar Big-Eyed bastard, had even prepared for what came next despite his anxieties.
Was it right to kill the Frog from that perspective?
"I'd rather not."
Enkrid appreciated the Frog's decision to stay behind alone after sending her men away.
That, coupled with her demeanor, didn't suit someone who should die here.
"So, I'll let her go."
Half of it was impulsive; the other half was a calculated decision to support Krais' plan.
To be honest, though, it was mainly because the Frog's actions had softened Enkrid's resolve.
With a knight already dead, Aspen had suffered a heavy blow.
The Frog surviving wouldn't suddenly rally an army against them.
Waging an all-out war now would only result in pointless losses.
It was a decision made through a mix of intuition and analysis.
If Krais had been there, he might have asked,
"Aren't you just doing whatever you feel like?"
Enkrid had once been kicked in the ribs by the Frog, but he'd long since forgotten that.
There was no lingering grudge.
With his weapons in hand, Enkrid began walking towards the other units.
But someone moved before him.
From the shadows of the clearing emerged a man with dark red hair, exuding an ominous presence.
To Rem, the man seemed shady and sinister, though others might see him as a strikingly handsome figure.
"Is it over?" the man asked.
"On my end."
"Hm."
Normally, he might have suggested moving on to Rem or Ragna, but Jaxen, wiping blood off his dagger, said nothing.
Enkrid offered him an encouraging remark.
"Let's go. Let's see how much of a beating Rem and Ragna have taken."
"Sure."
As they moved, Enkrid listened to Jaxen recount his encounter.
"Moonlight fairies?"
"Yes. They're adept at ambushes. The scouting unit is unharmed."
Before long, Finn and the scouting party approached.
"That was a close call," Finn remarked, her gaze flitting to Jaxen.
The memory of his fight was fresh in her mind.
The Moonlight Fairies specialized in silent assassinations, plunging daggers into unsuspecting backs.
Despite their agility and training, they had fallen one after another when facing Jaxen.
Finn had witnessed many battles, even those fought by junior knights, but this was a first.
Was it incredible?
She wasn't sure.
All she knew was that enemies dropped like flies.
The scouting unit had done nothing but retreat and watch in awe.
At some point during the chaos, the fairy commander fell with a dagger lodged in his forehead, thrown so silently no one had noticed when it had been released.
The ground where he lay became his coffin, as if by natural order.
Just as the silent dagger seemed to vanish into the air, so too did the reaper who wielded it, disappearing without a sound.
The fairies, no matter how emboldened they had initially been, couldn't ignore the shift.
Especially after their commander fell.
The battle ended sooner than expected.
The fairies scattered and disappeared like a receding tide.
And then the man returned to the scene.
Finn, to be honest, was a little afraid.
Was she supposed to feel relieved that this man was on their side?
He looked like someone who could slit her throat at any moment without a second thought.
No words of reassurance came from this dangerous man either.
"We're moving," he said, taking a step forward.
"Are you sure he's one of us?" one of her subordinates asked from behind.
Finn nodded, realizing only then that she and her scouting unit had unconsciously taken a few steps back.
Why did it feel more terrifying than reassuring when he killed their enemies?
His overwhelming strength was part of it, but it was more about the sheer lack of emotion in his blade work.
It wasn't rage, nor vengeance—just cold, mechanical precision, as if he killed because it was something that needed to be done.
That was what scared Finn.
"Uh, right..."
Finn struggled to find the right words as her thoughts lingered on what had just happened.
Enkrid nonchalantly jabbed Jaxen in the side with his elbow.
"You've got blood on you."
"...What was that?" Jaxen asked, his brows furrowing.
He had a right to ask—Enkrid had just outmaneuvered Jaxen's keen instincts to jab him in the ribs.
It was akin to slipping noise into sound.
By creating a mix of distractions—a feint toward his neck, a subtle foot sweep—Enkrid had concealed his real move.
Jaxen could have stopped it if he wanted to, but he let it happen, as if playing along.
It was their peculiar form of banter.
"Won't your lover in the city complain about the smell of blood?" Enkrid teased.
"Unlike some people, I keep myself clean," Jaxen shot back.
"Well, some people might end up in an unmarked grave in the East."
"That beastkin woman isn't likely to die so easily."
"You're giving Dunbakel a lot of credit."
"Not just anyone could survive under a savage like Rem."
So, was he praising Dunbakel for surviving Rem?
Did that mean everyone under Rem had to die?
Enkrid dismissed the idle thoughts and turned his attention to Finn.
She was a ranger, someone who had practically lived in the Pen-Hanil mountains for the sake of this battle.
She should've been better at navigating than he was.
But why was she just standing there?
Finn's mind was in turmoil.
Watching Enkrid casually joke around with Jaxen, the same man who seemed like death incarnate just moments ago, unsettled her.
On top of that, she couldn't ignore the fact that it was Enkrid who had sent Jaxen here in the first place.
With his abilities, wouldn't it have made more sense to deploy him somewhere else?
Perhaps alongside Enkrid himself?
Good results didn't justify everything.
War always demanded sacrifices.
Finn knew that all too well.
And this time, it had been her turn.
Was she happy to be alive?
Yes.
But that happiness was mixed with fear, relief, and an overwhelming sense of confusion.
Her complex emotions finally found their way into words.
"Why did you do it?"
Her voice was tinged with frustration as she asked the question without even realizing it.
"What do you mean?" Enkrid replied.
"This is like sending an entire infantry battalion to kill a single ghoul. No one summons a knightly order to deal with a single beast."
Surely, there were others on another battlefield who had to fight under worse conditions because Jaxen had been sent here to save them.
Finn's argument was logical—by all conventional reasoning, she was right.
Krais himself had once said there was no such thing as a battle without sacrifice.
Enkrid's response was simple, though laced with an honesty he hadn't even shared with Krais.
"Because I thought I could."
"...What?"
"I thought I could win without losing anyone from our side."
To someone unfamiliar with Enkrid, it might have sounded like nonsense.
But Finn had seen him in action.
She had seen the signs of battle and the destruction Jaxen had wrought under his command.
"...You thought you could?"
"Yeah, I did."
It wasn't arrogance—it was confidence.
Not recklessness, but calculated assurance.
Since his training with Aker, Enkrid had been pushing both Rem and Ragna relentlessly.
"Savage, if you stay where you are, you'll fall behind."
"Me? Fall behind who? The captain?"
"No."
"Then who?"
"Ragna. His blade's grown heavier."
"...Shit. Pick up your sword. That provocation was just the push I needed."
And to Ragna, Enkrid had said:
"Getting lost is fine. But seeing you cry after getting beaten by Rem wouldn't be enjoyable."
"Cry? Who's getting beaten by who?"
Though Enkrid mentioned Rem, Ragna didn't hear it.
Instead, his somewhat relaxed aura sharpened like a freshly honed blade.
"Wanna try me?"
"Better be ready. You might get hurt."
It wasn't hard to motivate them.
Before, even passive training had been enough to stir their spirits, but this time Enkrid had gone out of his way to stoke their ambition.
Why?
"Keep fighting. Keep testing yourselves."
It was advice from Aker.
Through relentless battles with Aker, Enkrid had gained something irreplaceable.
It wasn't a gift Aker had prepared for him—it was something Enkrid had seized for himself.
First, he had learned how to wield Will.
Moving an immovable boulder by leveraging its weight, gathering flowing water into cupped hands—such things weren't achieved through brute force but through a knack for balance.
This Will was something unique to him, something no one else could teach.
Enkrid instinctively understood that this was where he needed to focus.
And so, he had.
He also gained experience through sparring with knights, not as a student but as an equal.
"Fighting a hundred weaker opponents isn't as valuable as one match against someone on your level," Aker had told him.
Enkrid took that to heart and felt the truth of it with every strike.
Until the eve of the war with Aspen, Enkrid trained with Audin in Valaf martial arts, practiced Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship on his own, sparred with Rem and Ragna, and played knife-throwing games with Jaxen.
The confidence he carried now came from all of that.
The ability to calculate their forces, their chances.
'We can do this.'
Sure, sacrifices might be necessary in some battles, but not this time.
Above all, his comrades weren't the type to fall easily.
Would Rem risk his life to kill an Aspen knight and die in the process?
Not a chance.
They would hold the line and strike back.
Because they could.
And if it didn't work, they could reassess sacrifices then.
"What's the plan?" Krais asked.
"First option," Enkrid replied.
Krais muttered something about how wanting a battle without sacrifices was madness, but what could he do? Words couldn't build trust in situations like these—only actions could.
And Enkrid was proving his words right now.
His will shone like a guiding light—idealistic, perhaps even delusional to some—but unwavering all the same.
Those who followed him, those who had seen him fight, believed in him naturally.
And this was the result.

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