"Do you know what it takes to be an exceptional con artist?"
Krais suddenly asked.
After their daily tasks were done, those who had some free time would occasionally gather around a campfire, roasting chestnuts or walnuts. This was one of those idle chats born in such moments, without particular intent or purpose.
It was the kind of chatter one might toss out while letting a too-hot chestnut cool on the ground for a moment.
“Isn’t it just having a brain that works well?”
Rem tapped his own head as he spoke. With his other hand, he cracked a walnut using a hatchet.
Crack—snap.
With just the right amount of force and perfect aim, the walnut split cleanly in half without bouncing away.
Krais exaggeratedly shook his head at Rem’s words, which made Rem so annoyed that he threw the hatchet he was holding.
Of course, that didn’t result in Krais dying. That was because Encrid, who had been right next to him, caught the flying axe.
“Thank you for saving me, Captain.”
Krais said it calmly, and Encrid just gave him a quiet nod in response.
“That makes sixteen times I’ve saved your life. Is that the kind of attitude you show to your savior? Can’t you at least peel chestnuts a little more sincerely?”
“Yes, yes, your humble servant delivers.”
Krais deftly peeled a chestnut with a knife and handed over a perfectly clean, pale one.
Nearby, Sinar was wrapping walnuts in flower petals before eating them, and Esther quietly munched on a few pine nuts while observing the others.
Rem retrieved his axe and muttered,
“That bastard doesn’t even flinch anymore.”
Ragna, sitting nearby, offered advice.
“If you want to kill him, it’s better to swing the axe from up close.”
“…Hey, you crazy bastard. You think I don’t know that?”
Rem exploded in frustration, but it didn’t escalate into a fight.
Jaxon was silently organizing chestnuts in neat military rows, and Audin was loudly proclaiming how grateful he was to the gods for such tasty treats.
Encrid nodded as he chewed a few chestnuts, listening as Krais continued his story.
“Smart conmen always end up trusting only their own minds, and eventually they get outsmarted, betrayed by their own schemes. That’s why a truly exceptional conman doesn’t rely on brains alone.”
Encrid was mid-chew, swallowing water, so he couldn’t respond, but he gave a slight nod.
“The exceptional ones choose their targets wisely.”
That was the core of what Krais was saying. The cleverest swindlers never choose hard targets.
It was the same principle that applied to gamblers.
“They say the hardest part is getting the sucker to sit at the table, right?”
Exactly.
It’s hard to con a clever man, but conning a naive one is easy. The hard part is finding that naive mark.
Encrid felt that truth more than ever in this moment.
“So, had he predicted even this?”
Panito, the man who called Hescal his master and claimed to be his right hand, asked the question. His tone was like freshly burning firewood—his eyes, gestures, and even the way his words slipped through his lips were all heated with flames. But beneath that fire lay jealousy.
Of course, Encrid didn’t care. Even if his opponent was breathing fire, he’d simply step aside and say, “Ah, so you breathe fire”, like he’d known all along.
As Panito spoke, he raised the sword in his right hand. Somehow, the blade seemed to ripple with black waves.
Shriek—!
The sword let out a cry. It was a cursed sword, inhabited by an evil spirit. Did that mean it had a will of its own? An ego sword? No, it was better to call it simply a demon sword.
“Of course.”
Encrid nodded. Panito’s eyes twitched. Seeing that, Encrid’s thoughts continued to unfold.
If you piece together all the coincidences with intent and line them up, the answer becomes clear. Scattered beads are just beads, but thread them together and you get a necklace.
Who gave him the cursed sword, and what kind of power did it hold?
By layering speculation with multifaceted reasoning and evidence, the answer would come.
“Do you trust the sword given to you by Drmule? The one that suppresses your Will and uses an evil spirit to bind your body?”
It sounded detailed, but left vague on purpose, perfect for deceiving someone.
Then he watched the reaction.
Panito visibly flinched. His shoulder actually shook.
He had proudly revealed the sword, clearly believing he’d already won just by wielding it.
Pel had a similar sword once, that’s when he gained the Will of Rejection. Pel’s Idol Slayer didn’t work well on Knights or Junior-Knights who could use Will.
So this sword must be even more dangerous, and far more suited to the current situation.
‘Panito’s skill level at best is that of a Junior-Knight, yet he’s this confident.’
And he didn’t even look particularly afraid. All Encrid had done was take a wild guess based on intuition and logic.
“How did you know…?”
Panito asked, mouth agape. Rainwater entered his mouth, but he didn’t even bother to close it.
“I told you, it’s all going according to plan.”
Encrid said, now fully aware that this man had spent most of his life within Zaun.
He’d never wandered the continent, never been conned, never sat at a gambling table. In other words, he was naive.
“Now bring out the rest of what you’ve prepared.”
That was just a throwaway line.
“What? How?!”
Panito was surprised again.
“As planned.”
Encrid repeated, scoring another massive victory in their psychological battle.
Right then, two swordsmen appeared behind Panito—ones Encrid hadn’t even detected with his usual black-and-white perception.
Strictly speaking, he had seen them, but they’d erased their presence so thoroughly he’d instinctively dismissed them.
They wore hooded cloaks imbued with a Spell Object that manifested a veil spell.
They were swordsmen, yes, but their eyes were pitch black. Their shapes were human, but they lacked sentience. One was large, the other small.
Encrid was a bit surprised, but he had long mastered the art of deception. That was why he favored the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique.
“…All going according to plan, huh.”
Since he had resolved to treat even chance and misfortune as part of his intent, Encrid kept a consistent tone and pushed even further.
“I can see things a thousand steps ahead without leaving my seat.”
He was just talking nonsense at this point.
“Ah, so that’s it!”
Panito’s jaw dropped even wider, big enough to fit a fist.
“I can even see what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
Another wild claim.
“No way, that’s impossible…”
Yet Panito’s eyes grew twice as large. Despite denying it, he seemed half convinced.
“I see it. The future.”
Encrid said. Panito trembled, then finally closed his mouth and returned his eyes to their original size.
Despite being easy to toy with, Panito was still a skilled swordsman. He had a strong will and didn’t give up easily.
“Even so, nothing will change.”
Panito waved his hand. Realizing he couldn’t keep getting played, he decided to act.
With a signal, more than fifty arrows flew in from all sides.
Dodging them with just a nod wouldn’t be enough, they were aiming to turn him into a porcupine from head to toe.
Alongside the volley, invisible hands of telekinesis formed in the air, deflecting raindrops. One hand appeared just close enough to grab him but Encrid was already gone.
If you gain the upper hand in a psychological battle, of course you should take advantage of it.
The Luagarne-Style Tactical Sword uses every bit of the environment.
And the first tenet of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique is: If you can deceive even the heavens, then do it.
“Panito, watch out!”
Encrid shouted as he leapt sideways, still with his eyes closed. His voice rang out with force, amid the storm of arrows and evasion of telekinetic grasp.
Like how Tempest Zaun shaped his Intimidation with his greatsword, Encrid’s momentum also took form.
A powerful force of pressure radiated outward, straight and squared like a fortress wall.
A presence that spoke of honesty and unwavering will.
From Panito’s perspective, Encrid looked just about to push off with his back foot—a stance that signaled a fierce charge.
Panito’s thoughts accelerated. Death felt imminent. That was how strong Encrid’s momentum was.
In that moment of hyperfocus, Panito prepared with everything he had.
‘Block it.’
His armor had defensive spells, strong enough to deflect most attacks. He could endure a few blows.
And in that time, his cursed sword—given by Drmule—could either slash or stab.
The evil spirit within would sow seeds of confusion in Encrid’s mind, making him see illusions, hear nonsense, and lose his sense of friend or foe.
That was just one part of the plan.
Once Encrid’s mind was disturbed, the two swordsmen behind him would leap in. He might not even reach the berserk stage.
Truthfully, the most dangerous blades here weren’t cursed.
They were the two humanoid golems, products of a former alchemist’s painstaking craftsmanship.
Flash Golems, they were called.
‘Now come.’
Preparations were complete. It was the moment his resolve reached its peak and his reaction kicked in.
“…Damn.”
Panito bit back a curse.
Pabababak!
Fifty arrows struck the ground, the telekinesis lost its target and was swept away by the storm, and just as the two blade-wielding golems readied to spring forward, Panito had been bracing for an assault from the upright and righteous swordsman, Encrid.
Boom!
Encrid leapt backward. The ground cracked beneath where he had stood, a sign of the tremendous power he’d packed into that retreat. No, it was more like a charge.
It was the movement of a Knight wielding steel frame, fast enough to slip from everyone’s sight in an instant.
Everyone was deceived.
And just like that, Encrid, who had thoroughly tricked a complete fool, dashed between the two waiting swordsmen.
Had they known, they might have reacted. But this—this was such a perfect misdirection that even after seeing it, you’d blink once before cursing yourself.
You could call it a feat of acrobatics.
Using Intimidation as a bluff, he leapt backward and unleashed his full strength into a slash. The first strike decapitated the larger swordsman.
Thwack!
The sound of the blade slicing through the neck was harsh. The outer shell was that tough.
And with such a powerful swing, the smaller one should’ve had enough time to react, but Encrid, that bastard, swung the sword in his right hand while throwing the other with his left.
As the big one’s head was lopped off, the flying blade buried itself into the smaller one’s skull. His feet lifted off the ground, and he tumbled backward, rolling through the muddy water.
Thud, splat.
Hescal had known Lynox—his techniques, temperament, and even his smallest habits.
Though his skills were strange, Lynox never used tricks in battle. That’s just the kind of man he was.
But Encrid was not like him.
“Deceive.”
Encrid had grasped the essence of the Valen Mercenary Sword Technique and used it flawlessly.
He observed the situation using the Luagarne-Style Tactical Sword, taking advantage of the terrain, and with the practiced art of the Valen style, tricked his foes with every move.
“You damn con artist!”
Panito shouted.
Encrid, having dispatched the two swordsmen, feigned a pause—like he was catching his breath. To anyone watching, it looked like a brief moment to recover.
So once again—it was an unexpected charge.
There were more than ten Scalors with exceptional perception.
But if he’s not in your line of sight, you can’t use telekinesis, can you? Hadn’t he already seen this guy use it several times?
“If you’ve seen it that much, you should’ve figured out the weakness.”
That’s exactly what Frog of the Mad Knights might’ve said.
The foundation of the Luagarne-Style Tactical Sword was insight.
While momentary foresight sees the next move, what she meant was different.
It was about maintaining sharp awareness of the battlefield and shifting the advantage.
‘And using that at just the right moment.’
A deception using environment and circumstance.
Until now, Encrid had never once exploited a Scalor’s weakness.
He saved it for this one, single, lethal strike. Sudden stops and sudden bursts of acceleration erased him from the Scalor’s view.
No matter how good a beast’s reflexes are, a living creature’s eyes are always vulnerable to sudden speed changes.
Encrid knew this well—from firsthand experience. Hadn’t Alexandra once caught him off guard with the same trick?
Using that shift in speed, Encrid closed the distance right up to Panito’s nose.
“You crazy bastard!”
Panito panicked and swung his sword upward. Encrid was taller than him, and instinctively responded to the downward momentum he sensed from above.
Encrid recognized the nature of Panito’s sword—it was cursed.
Even grazing it could be dangerous. But hadn’t he faced such weapons countless times before? He had already fought against the Demon One-Killer. This was just a degraded version.
His instincts told him: Even if I’m struck, I won’t die.
And his cold, rational mind added:
‘Still, there’s no reason to get hit.’
From above, his Three Iron clashed with the rising cursed blade. It was a calculated maneuver. He had both superior strength and positional advantage.
Crash!
The impact rang out like a landslide, as if a boulder had smashed into the ground. The roar shoved aside the rain and wind.
But it didn’t end there.
The blades were locked together.
‘Bind.’
What Encrid did next was simple—he forced the sword downward.
Sure, Panito had good armor and a powerful weapon. But how strong was he, physically?
In terms of raw strength alone, even Rem might concede to Encrid’s monstrous might.
His Will moved, adding force. That’s why a Knight who’s awakened Will becomes an asymmetric force—strength and agility beyond human limits.
Panito had solid gear, but not exceptional strength.
“Grrgh!”
Panito gritted his teeth and struggled to hold on as Encrid’s blade slid horizontally toward his helmet.
The sword he had raised in defense was now becoming his own executioner. Encrid simply pressed and struck.
Clang, smash!
The cursed sword split its master’s helmet. Sparks burst vividly through the rain.
The sword cleaved through the helmet and turned his skull into a lidless pot.
Panito’s elbow twisted in the wrong direction, and from the unarmored joint, a jagged bone jutted out.
“Y-You…”
Our innocent Panito, despite his head being split open, held on for a moment.
But with no strength left to lift a finger, all he could do was glare with helpless, bitter eyes.
Yes, you could see it clearly in his gaze. How unfair it felt. Tears of blood poured down, it was impossible to miss.
“Those killed by Hescal probably felt the same.”
Encrid said calmly.
Among those Hescal had slain was someone Encrid had spent just a few days laughing with.
Even though it had only been a few days, the anger still burned inside him.
So how must others feel? Some were even angrier than him, but didn’t know why.
Kyaaaaah!
The evil spirit trapped in the sword screamed, surged upward into the sky, and streaked over the enemy lines.
Then, the light in Panito’s eyes faded. Raindrops slipped into his lifeless pupils. With a raspy wheeze, Panito muttered his final words:
“Did… it work…?”
Who he was asking, no one knew. But with that, Panito died. All that remained was the swarm of monsters.
“Don’t run. Chasing you down is a pain.”
Encrid, eyes still closed, felt even the movement of telekinesis through his sharp senses.
Which meant—dealing with things like them was no trouble at all.
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