Chapter 627

Chapter 627

Naturally, a whip possesses a greater velocity than a blade. This is a result of centrifugal force, amplified by the sharp flick of a person’s wrist. When such a weapon gathers sufficient momentum, it produces a distinct tearing sound through the atmosphere—a trait that remains consistent even as the whip’s scale increases.

KUAANG! KWARUNG!

The noise resembled local lightning strikes detonating in their immediate vicinity. Lua Gharne was capable of handling a whip herself, but her efforts typically resulted in mere pops and cracks.

A freak of nature.

That was the only thought in Pell’s mind. Lua Gharne realized that if that massive iron cord connected cleanly, even the most reinforced plate armor would shatter. While the two of them were busy processing the threat and trying to react, Enkrid utilized his accelerated cognitive state to track the weapon’s trajectory with his eyes.

Missing it meant a direct hit. Failing to anticipate its path meant the loss of a limb—an arm or a leg, if he was lucky.

It was incredibly fast.

There had been moments when Rem’s arm moved with whip-like fluidity, and his axe had once struck with the speed of a lightning bolt—but this surpassed those memories. The hulking adversary smirked, snapping the length of iron in a wide, sweeping arc, demonstrating masterful control.

KWAANG! KUAANG! KWAZIIIK! KWAAAA!

Four more explosions of sound rattled the landscape. Anything caught in the wake of that iron would have been turned to dust. A human frame would have been effortlessly torn into scattered fragments.

“Get to the trees!”

Lua Gharne yelled, hoping to use the environment for cover. As the words left her mouth, she felt a warm trickle of blood from her ear. Her eardrum had succumbed to the pressure. Pell suffered the same fate. The sheer sonic boom of the whip’s movement was more than their bodies could endure. The pair retreated further into the distance. This was a titan of a foe, one that made even approaching him seem impossible.

Enkrid, however, had remained perfectly stationary during the four-fold assault. After evading the initial strike, he simply stood his ground, gripping his blade. His hearing remained intact. Jaxon had previously instructed him that dulling one’s physical senses was a skill that could be honed, and Enkrid had mastered the practice. Through constant effort, he had learned to shield his physical form using Will—an evolution that transitioned into the knightly discipline of Endure.

A knight was capable of weathering almost any storm with such a technique. This was how he kept his ears from bursting. While the air shrieked under the whip’s lash, Enkrid was busy mapping out the situation.

“The reach of his weapon provides the advantage.”
“This specific gap is the perfect range for a whip.”
“If I rush him, the attack will come straight for my center.”

Should he attempt a feigned charge to draw the strike?

“No. That won’t work.”

His gut rejected the notion. Enkrid couldn’t see a path to victory using any standard maneuvers. This wasn’t an opponent he could trick. That whip functioned as both a perfect shield and a perfect spear. Its speed allowed it to cycle twice in the time it took a sword to complete one arc.

What if he traded a limb to catch the weapon? Could he secure a kill after taking such damage? Even for a knight, losing a part of the body meant losing balance. It would take precious moments to adjust—moments he wouldn’t have.

Enkrid took a long, shallow breath.

“If my mind can’t track it…”

Then his physical form would have to take the lead.

This realization brought back a memory of his time training under Jaxon:

“What do you do when there’s no time for logic?”
“Then you feel it with your marrow and just react. You have the ability. Sharpen your instincts.”

Don’t analyze. Just respond.

This philosophy mirrored what Rem had once told him. Even though Jaxon never openly endorsed Rem’s chaotic style, he would often train Enkrid in the dead of night. When Rem eventually discovered this, the two masters had come to blows once again.

Ironically, this was the exact wisdom Enkrid hoped to instill in Pell:

“If you try to think your way through a duel, you’ll find no path. Move your body in ways that defy logic.”

He held his breath.

Enkrid stopped trying to follow the iron whip with his vision—he began to sense its presence in the air instead. He had a bit of luck here; thanks to his time with Lua Gharne, he was no stranger to facing whips. By its very design, a whip is high-velocity. Because it relies on the wrist and centrifugal energy, it creates a specific tempo and flow.

The giant remained silent as he lashed out with the iron cord. Raw power traveled from his massive shoulders through the weapon, detonating against the air.

KWA-AAANG!

The spiraling metal terror sliced through the sky in a diagonal path, intended to cleave Enkrid in two. Evading it seemed unlikely.

CHHHIIING!

Enkrid didn’t move out of the way.

He intercepted it. He extended his sword and took the brunt of the impact. He couldn’t nullify the force entirely, but he could hold his ground—at least for a few strikes. Relying purely on his gut, he anticipated the whip’s route and deflected it.

CHHHIIING! CHING! BOOM!

He repeated the feat three more times.

A numbing vibration traveled through his grip. Luckily, True Silver was resilient enough to clash with the iron whip without shattering.

“How many of those do you think you can take?”

The giant bellowed. Enkrid’s gaze sharpened. Once more, the whip whistled toward him—a tool of execution descending with the sound of thunder.

And Enkrid leaped—straight into the path of the storm.

It looked like a suicidal charge. A single touch would rip through skin. Even a defense made of Will would be crushed under that weight. The giant felt the thrill of a finished fight. But then, his intuition failed him.

The metal length whistled harmlessly over Enkrid’s head.

A fluke? The giant assumed so.

But Enkrid had found the gap in the whip’s tempo. Now inside the guard and within striking distance, he lashed out. The giant used the iron plating on his left wrist to catch the blade.

CLAAANG!

The air filled with sparks. True Silver bit into the gauntlet, shearing off a piece of the metal.

“He caught it.”

From the giant’s perspective, it seemed like a desperate, lucky lunge had been successfully parried. The adversary’s frame was more than twice the size of a standard human, and his movement was equally massive. He backed away rapidly to regain his optimal distance, snapping the whip again to keep Enkrid at bay.

“You think you’ll get lucky twice?”

If Enkrid remained on the defensive, his blade would eventually snap—and his body would follow.

“I’ll break every bone until he breaks down.”

That was the giant’s strategy.

But Enkrid lunged forward again.

He dropped his center of gravity and slid under the whip’s lethal arc.

KWAANG!

The displaced air from the weapon’s passage tossed his hair like a gale. It felt as though it might rip the strands from his scalp. The wind pushed his hair back, revealing his brow and his intense blue eyes. The giant caught a glimpse of those glowing eyes beneath that smooth forehead.

“It’s not luck.”

Of course, it wasn’t. Enkrid had decoded the whip’s internal rhythm. There was a fundamental gap in their martial mastery. If the giant weren’t using such a specialized, long-range tool, the contest wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“You aren’t what the stories said!”

The giant yelled. Even at this range, his physical presence was daunting. Enkrid struck again—aiming for the throat. His blade moved with the grace and speed of a swallow. The giant lifted his armored hand once more—but Enkrid’s sword shifted its path mid-air, carving into the giant’s right shoulder.

SPRAAACK!

Muscle and skin were torn open.

Compared to the roar of the iron whip, the sound was barely a murmur. But noise does not determine lethality. A sharp edge can end any life—and even a giant can be felled by a strike backed by Will. The thick hide split, and a fountain of blood followed. He had severed a major vessel. It wasn’t a fluke—Enkrid had targeted it specifically. The ligaments. The arteries.

“The better you understand anatomy, the faster the fight ends.”

That was the lesson from Audin. Enkrid had practiced that truth every single day. All of it—the combat time, the sharp insight, the drive to improve—had led to this single moment. Those blue eyes were seeing the next second before it happened. His gut had mastered the whip’s timing.

“You’re more than just a knight.”

The giant growled.

Nobody welcomes the end. Not even Hatun, the giant. He had been told Enkrid was just a lucky man who fell into knighthood—that he was only dangerous because of his allies. That was why he waited for a moment of isolation. Assassins had consistently failed at Border Guard. When news broke that Enkrid had traveled alone, Hatun saw his chance.

“You’re far beyond a Battle Apostle.”

The giant continued his thought.

But in the span between those two sentences, Enkrid had already opened up his knee and ruined his wrist. Blood sprayed. That hand would never hold a whip again. The Demon Sanctuary Church possessed formidable Battle Apostles—but Hatun recognized now that Enkrid operated on a higher plane.

“They should have sent the Evil Spirit Apostle instead…”

Hatun rasped. Was he trying to send a warning? It didn’t matter. Enkrid didn’t listen.

“Hard to deliver a message when you don’t have a return address.”

With that, Enkrid drove a foot into the giant’s leg, used the momentum to vault higher, and swung—

True Silver drew a flawless line, cutting straight through the giant’s neck.

WHUMP.

Hatun’s hand moved to stop it, but it was far too slow. The steel had already finished its work. He clutched at the spray of blood, gasping out:

“How did you read the rhythm?”

So many final inquiries.

It was human nature. People want answers when they reach the end. His eyes were clouded with regret.

“The rhythm was basic.”

“…You arrogant brat.”

A basic rhythm? What kind of madman thinks that merely seeing a pattern allows you to dance through it? But the debate was over. This was reminiscent of dueling one of the Holy Knights within the Gray Divine Army. It wasn’t just about raw Will—it was about pure, unadulterated talent and combat time.

Hatun’s massive body fell backward. Dust billowed, and a dark pool of blood began to spread like a rising tide. He wouldn’t drown, of course. One cannot die twice.

Enkrid moved away from the growing crimson stain.

“It seems the Demon Sanctuary Church dispatched a killer.”

That was his only observation.

“I don’t think that giant was looking for a chat,” Pell replied dryly.

Enkrid, true to form, simply started walking again.

“Move out.”

“Won’t there be more of them?”

Pell was concerned, and for good reason.

“The Demon Sanctuary Church can’t just throw away assets like that in large numbers,” Lua Gharne pointed out. She looked back at the discarded whip. Even with their influence across the land, deploying several assassins of Hatun’s caliber wasn’t a sustainable move.

She was right. Because of Hatun’s demise, the local branch of the church would be forced to pull back.

—

“Hatun was defeated?”

The High Priest exhaled slowly at the report. He despised the idea of a chaotic “Madman” blocking his path.

“He cannot be allowed to continue.”

The giant’s death was a testament to Enkrid’s power. If they could find him once more—

“He’s almost never away from his subordinates.”

They would need to catch him while he was vulnerable.

“Mobilize every asset we have in this sector. I will lead the effort myself.”

The High Priest, who was also the First Apostle, made the call. He still saw an opportunity.

“He’ll return to Border Guard eventually.”

They just had to control the path back.

He failed to realize one crucial detail—he assumed Hatun had died in a close, grueling struggle. No matter how much intelligence they gathered, they were missing the truth. Another observer had watched the fight from the shadows. To that person, it had briefly seemed like Hatun was winning. It was a fatal miscalculation. Too many skilled warriors had died attempting to kill Enkrid—and now, the lack of capable men was inviting disaster.

—

Regardless of who was hunting him, Enkrid continued his journey.

By the fourth day, he was conversing with Lua Gharne, helping her train, refining his own thoughts, and they eventually crossed a river. They passed a noble’s land that he recognized, but he chose not to stop. He wasn’t fixated on the visions the Ferryman gave him…

But since Shinar had appeared in them—

“She didn’t look like she was at peace.”

Assuming the Ferryman’s visions held weight.

Sticking to the route Esther had placed in his mind, Enkrid crossed a river to the south, banked east, and traversed several mountain ranges. Even after the encounter with Hatun, they ran into predators and highwaymen—but Enkrid didn’t feel the need to intervene.

“Robbery? Are you idiots?”

Pell handled the talk. Lua Gharne stepped in and finished the fight.

Eventually, they arrived.

A location Esther had named the Ghost Forest.

A sickly green haze hung over the tree line. It looked like a place where spirits would naturally dwell. The woods began at the edge of a lonely mountain trail. There were no signs of recent travelers. Enkrid had just finished killing a boar-like creature.

As he took two steps forward—

His instincts flared.

Sound, smell, the shift in air pressure—everything was absorbed into his heightened state of awareness. He could see the projectile cutting through the air.

An arrow—whistling toward them with a sharp shhk.