Chapter 626

Chapter 626

In the foundational teachings of Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship, this particular maneuver involved dropping to a single knee without unsheathing your blade, maintaining an air of total composure while observing the enemy.
The essence of the move was found in the gaze and the placement of the hands.
One was never to grasp the hilt; the palm was meant to dangle loosely at the side.
When Enkrid had first been introduced to this, he figured that if a lie was this elaborate, the person who invented it must have been obsessively dedicated to the craft of deception. He had respected that level of commitment. However, his perspective had shifted recently.
Valen-style mercenary swordplay was, at its core, a discipline founded on Will.
“With sufficient Will, you can transcend simple trickery—you can exert dominance.”
It was perhaps a more sophisticated evolution of pure terror.
Enkrid had developed his own interpretation, dubbing it the False Slash.
Technically, a name wasn’t necessary. The ideal was to execute the move without the need for a label. He was aware of this; Rem had emphasized it, others had echoed the sentiment, and he had come to the same realization himself. Yet, achieving natural fluidity remained a hurdle. Consequently, he assigned names to his techniques to give them a concrete form within his mind.
A person cannot run before they can stand. It is impossible to spring forward from a seated position. To him, naming a move was the vital first step toward standing upright.
“The energy blade of Shinar provided the necessary spark.”
Mental energy manifested as a phantom edge. Having encountered it countless times, he arrived at this realization organically. This, too, felt like a legacy left by Shinar.
It shared similarities with the thread-web used by Acker—a weapon of absolute martial skill—but the internal pressure this time was far more concentrated. It required him to channel a massive amount of Will into the strike.
He dug his left foot into the earth, gathering force as if preparing for a sudden burst of speed. Enkrid’s right hand, hanging limp, made two subtle movements forward and back. This was his method for summoning his Will—not to construct a barrier, but to forge a blade. An invisible, non-existent edge that wouldn’t leave a physical mark even if it connected—that was the False Slash that descended upon Pell.
“You damn bastard!”
In a reflex, Pell pulled Idol Slayer and lashed out. It was the weapon they had specifically sidelined for their practice. However, his blade cut through nothing but empty space.

—

“What in the world was that?”
Even though he was just standing there watching Enkrid, Pell found himself drenched in a cold sweat that ran down his face and spine. He had witnessed it. He saw Enkrid rushing toward him, a sword poised to cleave his skull in two. His opponent’s presence had suddenly seemed to expand, looming over him.
Because of that vision, Pell had swung his sword out of pure survival instinct.
Yet, nothing had actually occurred.
Pell wasn’t the only one affected. Had Enkrid truly swung a physical blade with that much force, the wide arc would have threatened anyone in the vicinity. Lua Gharne, who was observing nearby, had also reacted. Without thinking, she had already gripped her whip and sword, dropping into a defensive posture.
“Valen-style mercenary swordsmanship. It is a modification of a swordless intimidation tactic. I call it the False Slash.”
Enkrid offered the explanation with professional courtesy, though the grueling process of developing it was hidden behind that single sentence.
“What does that even mean?”
Pell was visibly shaken, which was rare for him. Even if the attack was an illusion, he had just experienced a sensation akin to death. It hadn’t physically transpired, but he had felt his head being split open; he had even registered the phantom pain. It was only natural that he was trembling.
“Get a hold of yourself.”
Enkrid locked eyes with him. Maintaining composure was the first requirement. If the spirit falters, the physical form follows. This training session had been initiated for Pell’s growth.
Of course, Enkrid was also using it to refine his own abilities. He was gaining insights from Pell as well.
The ability to exploit openings? To pinpoint vulnerabilities? He was studying Pell’s innate martial genius and incorporating it into his own style.
In the end, no effort ever yields only a single reward.
“What?”
“I told you: stay calm and observe. You didn’t actually die, did you?”
To Pell’s ears, Enkrid spoke with the weight of someone who had perished countless times over.
“It certainly felt like it! It felt like I was killed and then dragged back!”
The veins in Pell’s temples pulsed. In that moment, Enkrid understood that his own history of dying and returning to life was the very fuel for this technique.
It was inevitable that a warrior’s lived experiences would be woven into their combat style.
“So it has become a blade that projects the image of death onto the rival.”
He had met his end in so many ways that it was simple to carve those memories into his Will and cast them outward.
Enkrid provided further detail before restarting the session.
“We’re going again?”
Pell complained, yet he still resumed his fighting stance.
It was a rare sight—a technique that had shifted from a simple scare tactic into something entirely different. It was captivating, even if the sensation of dying was profoundly disturbing.
Enkrid executed Pell twice more. Despite understanding the mechanics of the move, Pell found no way to counter it.
Ironically, Lua Gharne was the one to devise a countermeasure first. She shifted her mental focus: if the strike doesn’t hit the heart, it isn’t fatal. She began to mentally sacrifice her limbs to break free from the overwhelming psychological pressure.
“This wouldn’t work so easily on someone like Frokk.”
That evening, after the conclusion of the second day, Enkrid slipped into sleep and encountered the Ferryman.
The Ferryman remained silent at first, merely observing. Eventually, he uttered a single phrase:
“I have seen it.”
“Seen what?”
“Your path forward.”
Enkrid wasn’t trying to be flippant, but a bit of instinctive dry humor escaped him:
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Are you contemplating fatherhood now? Do you intend to find a spouse and put down roots?”
“No. It was just a joke since you claimed to see my future.”
Without Shinar around, he found himself filling the void with fairy-style wit. Perhaps that was a sign he needed to locate Shinar again.
“You are a difficult spirit to crack. Very well, I will show you.”
The Ferryman lifted his hand, the one not carrying the lantern.
“This one feels distinct from the previous Ferryman.”
That was the fleeting thought. The figure opened his hand, and a void of blackness blossomed within his ashen skin. It grew with alarming speed, engulfing Enkrid in a blanket of shadow.
Nothing but the void remained.
Then, the Ferryman’s voice echoed, or rather, the meaning was impressed directly upon his mind through Will.
“Inside this dark corridor, you shall encounter an immovable barrier.”
Enkrid strained his vision. Something existed beyond the murk. As he stared, a shape began to solidify.
Even without a face or a scent to identify it, Enkrid recognized the outline. It was far too recognizable to ignore.
“That will be your obstacle.”
The Ferryman’s words carried the weight of a malediction.
“I understand.”
However, the power of a curse often depended on how much it unnerved the target. And Enkrid remained perfectly still.
Most people would have been terrified. That was the intent of a curse: to unsettle the soul. But Enkrid stayed composed, simply analyzing what he saw.
The silhouette belonged to a woman. A figure he knew all too well. There was no doubt. It was Shinar. The person he was constantly pursuing.
Enkrid had interacted with many Ferrymen over his life. Very few had ever been straightforward. He had become adept at finding the truth within their cryptic riddles.
“Not ‘she,’ but ‘that.’”
The Ferryman hadn’t referred to her as the wall. He had said that the figure was the wall. It wasn’t a mistake. It meant that Shinar herself was not the barrier.
Enkrid woke up instantly.
The Ferryman who had guided him out of the dream fell into a brooding silence.
“Who on earth molded him into that shape?”
The entity whispered to itself.
“I cast a curse upon him and he didn’t even flinch. Why is he so quick to catch my verbal slips?”
The Ferryman had glimpsed a portion of Enkrid’s thoughts and was irritated that the human had noted the distinction between “that” and “she.”
All the other Ferrymen who had encountered Enkrid in the past remained quiet. They had once taken great pleasure in tormenting him—but in doing so, they had forged the Enkrid that existed now.
“We have created a monster of a man.”
The Ferryman let out a heavy sigh.

—

Enkrid didn’t dwell on walls or the dreams of the previous night. Fretting over the Ferryman’s warnings would only serve as a distraction. Even if a barrier existed—what would change? He wasn’t going to retreat. Not even a single step.
So, on the third day, he continued his trek southward along a path he recognized. He moved through a small patch of woods and then past a collection of jagged rocks, when the sound of snoring reached his ears from up ahead.
“Some lunatic is sleeping right in the middle of the road,” Pell grumbled.
Lua Gharne tilted her head in curiosity.
Regardless of who it was, Enkrid kept his pace. Soon, they came across a figure napping with its back resting against a colossal stone.
The creature’s scale defied logic.
It was a two-legged monster—a member of the race known as the Beast of Red Blood.
A giant.
As Enkrid drew near, the snoring stopped. The beast’s nose twitched, and it slowly blinked its eyes open.
The eyes were a piercing, vivid blue. Its hair was a tangled, greasy mess, looking as though it hadn’t seen water in weeks. The smell was overpowering.
The ground around it was littered with splinters of bone and torn leather.
“Hrk.”
The giant let out a loud burp. Even from Enkrid’s position, the foul odor was nauseating.
Even while seated, the giant loomed over Enkrid. Consequently, Enkrid had to look upward to make eye contact.
Their gazes locked. In a voice devoid of any emotion, the giant spoke:
“Blue eyes.”
The voice was a deep rumble, a vibration that seemed to shake the very air around its massive body. Pell made a face at the lingering stench.
Enkrid wasn’t the only one who noticed the color.
“You have blue eyes as well,” Enkrid noted. His voice was as flat as the giant’s.
“Yes. I am aware. Time to stand.”
The giant pushed himself away from the boulder. The massive rock shifted with a grinding screech, a clear indicator of the creature’s immense mass.
Giants were not known for their buoyancy. If they tumbled into deep water, they went straight to the bottom. While Frokk lived in fear of his heart stopping, giants lived in fear of deep pools. They could handle running streams for drinking and washing, but stagnant, deep waters like lakes made them deeply uncomfortable.
Here, however, there was no water to be found. Thus, the giant moved with a relaxed confidence.
Revealing a row of stained, dark teeth, he asked:
“Your name?”
“Why do you care?” Pell snapped.
The giant shifted his gaze to Pell.
“Wait your turn. You come after him.”
He gestured toward Enkrid.
“After him for what?”
“For the kill. You are the next in line.”
“Who exactly are you planning to kill?”
Lua Gharne moved forward.
The giant gave another grin.
“You are Enkrid, aren’t you?”
Enkrid remained unmoved.
“I didn’t expect a welcoming committee on the road. Do we have a history? Or were you sent by someone? Perhaps a figure in a black cowl carrying a lamp?”
The giant let out a low chuckle.
“You really should have kept a lower profile.”
“So, no recommendation. Then I’m curious—how did you know I would be passing through here?”
Unshaken, Enkrid fired back with his own inquiry.
“Keep acting like that, and you’ll run into assassins. Or, if your luck truly runs out—you’ll run into me.”
They continued to talk past each other. Finally, Enkrid interrupted.
“Are you old?”
“Very.”
“How old?”
“More than a hundred years.”
“That’s all?”
“You insignificant human—”
“I happen to know a woman who is over four hundred.”
So what?
The exchange was pointless. Just a series of empty threats and observations.
Nevertheless, something about Enkrid’s manner was getting under the giant’s skin. Was this brat truly devoid of fear, or was he relying on some hidden support? Perhaps Frokk? But Frokk wasn’t exactly a terrifying prospect.
The whole thing was irritating. The tone, the lack of respect, the way this supposed prey conducted himself—
The giant was becoming genuinely frustrated.
“You won’t have a merciful end. I’m going to eat you while you’re still breathing.”
“I’ll ensure your death is tidy. Where would you like me to send your severed head once I’ve wrapped it up?”
“GRRAAAAGH!”
The giant let out a deafening roar toward the clouds. It was a sound designed to paralyze the heart of any listener.
It functioned like a Howl—
A fear-inducing sonic attack used by certain monsters, fueled by their Will.
Enkrid instinctively activated his Rejection Will, dismissing the effect entirely.
Pell let out a sharp breath and backed away. Lua Gharne took two steps back and then leaped even further to create distance.
The sheer power of that roar made one thing certain: this giant was at the level of a knight.
Enkrid had already deduced as much. Even before the roar, his gut had told him the truth based on the giant’s stance alone.
As his fingers closed around the grip of True Silver, the giant spoke once more.
“Repeat that.”
“The wrapping. The location. A tidy death.”
Enkrid spoke to the giant with the same mocking tone he used when dealing with Rem.
The giant loathed it. He hated that his roar had failed to move Enkrid. He hated the way the man spoke to him.
“I am Hatun! An Apostle of the Demon Sanctuary Church!”
With his shout, the giant reached behind the massive boulder where he had concealed his weapon.
It appeared to be a whip at first glance—
But it was no simple whip.
It was a gargantuan iron chain.
WHOOM!
It tore through the atmosphere, slamming down into the spot Enkrid had occupied a second before.
BOOM!
The impact sent a spray of earth and shattered stone flying. The force was so immense that even rocks buried deep in the ground were ripped out and launched like projectiles.
To call those pieces “pebbles” would be like calling the sun a candle flame.
THUD!
Pell used his sword to bat away a flying piece of debris. It struck the earth with a heavy, solid thud.