There could be no greater compliment for Eitri than this. And yet, the madman who hammered steel simply stood up without a trace of a smile.
"True Iron."
His greeting was just as simple.
"Understood."
Encrid nodded briefly. Ending their short exchange, he left the forge and quickened his pace. There was nothing urgent, really—he just wanted to return quickly and swing the Star Iron Sword.
Technically, it was Black Gold-True Iron-Star Iron Sword, but that name was far too long.
‘I need something like Odd-Eye, something just as intuitive and striking.’
Something that would immediately stick in the ear.
‘Three-Iron Sword?’
If the sword had a consciousness, it would probably jump out of its scabbard and run away. But since it didn’t, nothing of the sort happened.
‘Not bad.’
Encrid was secretly pleased with himself. While Star Iron was the primary component, calling it simply the Star Iron Sword felt misleading.
Star Iron varied in quality. This particular batch had a unique property, most other Star Iron would snap easily when sharpened, but when compressed into a pillar-like structure, it gained incredible hardness while evenly distributing weight.
There was a reason Black Snake Ele had used it to make armor. It was far more useful as protective gear, but Eitri had worked his craft to use it as the sword’s central core. The remaining materials had been set aside for research.
When Encrid left the forge after that brief conversation, the marketplace was already starting to fill with people. It wasn’t packed to the point where movement was difficult, after Krais divided the city into districts, overcrowding became rare. It was still early in the day, after all.
Encrid moved through the market, placing one foot after another. As he walked, he instinctively placed his hand over his sword grip, shifting his weight onto his left ankle. His right foot naturally fell half a step back as he stopped.
In that brief movement, he took in everything around him.
To the right, a drying canopy and the wooden framework of a newly constructed building stood. Below, scattered nails and hammers lay where the carpenter had left them. To the left, a child, awake unusually early, sat blankly on the front steps of their home. Sunlight streamed down from the clear sky, casting shadows between buildings and tents as people wove between them.
And beyond the marketplace’s central intersection, there stood a swordswoman.
She neither hid in the shadows nor made an effort to conceal herself. She wore a chestplate fashioned from riveted iron plates, along with leather armor that covered her waist to her thighs. Her attire radiated excessive confidence.
Her lips moved.
"You’re the one, aren’t you?"
A question, but not really. She already knew the answer. And so, instead of waiting for a response, she acted.
With a push from the ground, she shot across the intersection.
Shing!
Her sword flashed free as she wove through the crowd, her movement tracing a smooth arc if seen from above.
Like a cunning snake slithering through people, she struck. The fangs of the serpent—her blade—flew straight for the center of Encrid’s forehead.
Ping!
Of course, the blade never reached its target. Encrid sidestepped and slashed upward with Penna.
The new sword hadn’t settled into his grip yet. He couldn’t afford to gamble with an unfamiliar blade against such an opponent.
Swish.
But Penna missed its mark as well.
His strike was perfectly timed and aimed at an unavoidable trajectory, but the woman read his move and pulled back. She was now beneath a canopy, its draped fabric casting deep shadows that partially obscured her figure.
Her softly curled lips spoke volumes.
‘She’s smiling.’
She looked pleased. And then, she moved again.
Her speed was on par with Encrid’s, he couldn’t dismiss her as slower.
Their swords clashed, dodges followed, and movement continued.
Neither side could land a decisive strike, nor were they attempting to. Their insight into each other’s next moves made predictions near impossible.
She was as capable as he was. They read each other’s intentions, exchanging rapid counters like a game of wits.
Whish, whip, tap, swish.
As if by mutual agreement, the two danced through the marketplace, swords flashing between civilians.
And yet, no one was harmed.
Encrid’s Penna sliced through the air just above a young boy’s head, stirring only a soft breeze. The child blinked, momentarily startled, before absently patting his own hair. By then, both sword masters had already moved past him.
The woman’s blade passed over an elderly lady’s shoulder. But it never touched, only earning a puzzled glance as the old woman tilted her head.
"Huh?"
Not everyone remained oblivious. Some noticed, but they struggled to process what was happening.
A baker, busy preparing morning bread, blinked. Something had just zipped past… Had it?
It was hard to tell. The two fighters never stopped moving, flashing in and out of sight like flickering ghosts.
It almost looked like a game of tag.
Except they held swords. And they never stopped attacking.
"Are they fighting?"
That was the question people eventually voiced.
Encrid knew fighting in the middle of the market put him at a disadvantage.
If his opponent targeted bystanders, he’d be forced to defend them while fighting. The swordswoman was adept at using human shields.
He had the advantage in raw power, but the battlefield favored her tactics.
‘The tactical position is bad.’
When he fought Demon One-Killer, he had deliberately controlled the battlefield, keeping the opponent’s attention fixed to prevent distractions.
This swordswoman, however, had superior tactical awareness.
People often assumed duels lacked tactics.
They were wrong.
Tactics were essential. Anything that factored in the battlefield’s environment to tilt the advantage was a tactical decision.
‘She’s better than me in that regard.’
Encrid realized this after only a few exchanges.
She knew how to utilize her surroundings. Everyone around her became her shield.
Meanwhile, everyone around Encrid became something he had to protect.
Not that he considered them burdens, if he had, he never would have sworn to protect those behind him.
‘Calculate.’
Rapid cognition, split-second decision-making—Wave Blocking Sword was more than just a defensive technique; it honed the mind.
Since returning to the Border Guard, he had spent time training with his unit. Surely, he had learned something.
Of course, he had.
His growth was slow, so slow that Rem found it infuriating, but he still progressed.
Expanding the domain of Wave Blocking Sword was one such result.
He had borrowed part of Jaxon’s specialty.
"Increasing sensory awareness to claim a domain."
Following Jaxon’s method, Encrid sharpened his perception.
Everything—the sights his eyes took in, the sounds reaching his ears, the scents in the air, the taste on his tongue, the touch against his skin, all of it synthesized into a singular prediction. He absorbed the environment instantly, processing and recalculating.
‘A spike pierces a circle.’
He combined this insight with the principles of Wave Blocking Sword.
In other words, he calculated the future.
‘Rapid cognition lets me see farther ahead.’
His head burned. His nose bled, a thin trickle running past his upper lip.
This technique required certain conditions.
First, he had to be in a familiar location. Otherwise, the overwhelming variables would fry his brain.
Second, he needed to understand his limits.
‘If I push too far, I’ll pass out.’
A human mind overheats when overworked, he had learned that firsthand.
But now, he met both conditions. He knew this marketplace well.
And he had practiced controlling his limits.
Control was key. And among madmen, Encrid had the greatest control.
He stomped the ground, intentionally drawing attention.
Calculation was probability.
He mapped several futures. Instead of picking a safe escape route, he forced a collision course.
He brought the unavoidable future into the present.
Feeling the gazes land on him, he moved. Slower than before.
That shift in tempo created an opening. His opponent saw it as an opportunity.
Her sword flew from behind, a strike from the left.
Encrid twisted his body, drawing his sword with minimal movement.
‘Time for a new sword.’
With his left hand, he partially unsheathed his newly received blade, using it as a shield.
If she pulled back, he would immediately counterattack.
She knew this, which meant she couldn’t pull back.
Bang!
It was a deliberate noise.
As blades clashed and a resounding clang rang out, someone finally shouted.
"A fight!"
When tensions ran high, Krais had ordered evacuation drills for the Border Guard residents. The goal was simple: to prevent anyone from becoming a blind victim to a stray sword.
At the time, the citizens had grumbled, complaining about the unnecessary hassle. But now, the moment they heard the sounds of battle, they darted inside their homes and shops without hesitation.
"City Watch!"
Someone else shouted.
"Our time is short, then?"
The swordswoman realized she had lost her advantage and spoke. Yet, she showed no regret as her human shields scattered. She hadn’t relied on grabbing someone to use as a literal meat shield anyway.
Her opponent was a Knight, or at least someone of similar skill.
Encrid didn’t respond to her words. Instead, he slid his half-drawn sword back into its sheath.
Click.
It unsheathed smoothly, and it returned just as smoothly. A true masterpiece, it wasn’t just the blade, but even the scabbard that felt like an extension of the sword itself.
If he lacked confidence in victory, or if things got dangerous, he wouldn’t hesitate to use his new weapon, familiar or not.
But—
Penna was enough.
He didn’t think he would lose.
What struck him as odd, however, was that her face seemed vaguely familiar.
But from where?
No matter how well he remembered faces, it was impossible to recall every person he had briefly passed by throughout his countless days.
"Your tactical thinking is impressive. You identified an unfavorable battlefield and eliminated your disadvantage, didn’t you?"
The female swordsman spoke again. Encrid nodded. Since she had refrained from targeting the fleeing civilians, she was worth responding to.
"And that means you’re confident you can capture me. That half-drawn sword—you just got that, didn’t you? And the other one, you’ve recently switched weapons, right? You’re using it because it offsets the length disadvantage. Plus, judging by the single-edged blade, it’s specialized for cutting, isn’t it?"
Her questions already contained the answers. She wasn’t looking for confirmation.
She let her sword hang loosely. Its blade was an unusual shade of white.
Even from their single clash, Encrid could tell, it was no ordinary weapon.
"I wonder... what are the others doing right now?"
Suddenly, she changed the subject.
"Did I come here alone?"
It seemed like a habit, every statement she made was a question.
"But I suppose not, right?"
Even when she was making assumptions, her words carried a clear implication.
"...Who are you?"
This time, Encrid was the one asking.
If she wasn’t alone, that meant others were launching attacks elsewhere.
That suggested he wasn’t her specific target, the Border Guard was.
Her identity was difficult to guess. He had too little information.
That just meant he would have to beat the answers out of her.
"Who do you think I am?"
She asked, and then moved again.
Without the burden of human shields, her footwork became even faster.
Her blade left behind afterimages, blurring into a cutting arc that slashed through the space between them.
Encrid didn’t stop calculating.
He pushed his mind into overdrive, overheating his brain even further to see a step ahead of her.
He analyzed the probabilities, choosing the most optimal course of action.
Perhaps this was the very method of turning every sword strike into the correct answer.
His fevered mind sought the solution.
Reading the trajectory of her blade, he peered into her intent and chose his response.
Trained muscles served as the perfect instrument to support his rapid cognition.
Bang!
Once more, their swords met and separated. The impact was so strong that Encrid’s hand tingled from the force.
"You’re pretty damn strong, huh?"
She sounded surprised, her words stretching slightly, because even as she spoke, she was already moving again, launching into another dynamic rush.
Amidst the flashing blades, Encrid continued his calculations.
Even as blood dripped from his nose, he tasted exhilaration.
Truthfully, ever since the fight had begun, he had been having too much fun.
His brain felt like it was melting in the thrill of the moment.
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