Encrid had learned several techniques after coming to Zaun, but the most unique among them was the technique of handling Will.
Of course, he had seen similar things within the Mad Knights. Didn’t Rem use it that way too?
“Transfer of Will.”
That was Rem’s method of handling Will—breaking off fragments of it and embedding them into projectiles.
It was a field that one couldn’t even dream of learning unless they had reached the level of a Knight.
Only upon becoming a Junior Knight could one manage to inject a bit of Will into certain techniques for single-use.
Naturally, it was something only Knights could control, and it was obviously more difficult than simply moving the body. But ironically, for Encrid, learning this was twice as easy as mastering body techniques.
He had an inexhaustible supply of Will, which made repetitive training much easier.
Of course, this wasn’t something that could be learned haphazardly while half-asleep, but Encrid was the kind of person who gave his best at anything he set out to learn.
And when he had even a spark of talent in something, learning it was always a joy.
Controlling Will itself was difficult, but it was so enjoyable that he became completely absorbed in it.
To be honest, even when practicing moderation and control, he recklessly poured out Will without reservation.
He kept burning through his inexhaustible Will until he felt something akin to fatigue—a sense of depletion—repeating the cycle over and over.
He also received quite a bit of help in the process.
“It’s not just about using it, you need to be able to shape it to your will.”
That’s what Lynox once said regarding Will.
Alexandra also demonstrated something similar.
These two had the most refined mastery over Will within Zaun.
Of the two, Lynox’s control was like playing an instrument without a single mistake.
He had to execute perfectly, both when applying and withdrawing power.
He would break off just the right amount of Will and use it accordingly—that was moderation.
Encrid’s own moderation was modeled after Lynox’s.
And moderation was relatively harder. One had to maintain constant mental focus to control Will.
It was like carrying a bowl filled to the brim with water without spilling a drop.
If you walked carefully, it was possible, but a single misstep would spill water everywhere.
And he wasn’t just walking, he was fighting in that state.
So, naturally, Encrid spilled a few drops. To be more honest, he practically soaked himself. That’s how difficult it was for him to control Will.
On the other hand, Alexandra’s method was completely different.
From the idea that “moderation is relatively difficult”, her usage of Will was the “relative” being referred to.
Her method was more like “setting the tail of a wild horse on fire”.
A wild horse with its tail ablaze would run with terrifying speed.
There would be no room for pacing or considering what came next. With flames chasing up its back, what room was there for thought?
It was like sprinting full force down a slope. It was faster than running on flat ground, but far harder to control. And Alexandra didn’t care about control at all.
If Lynox tried to shape the form of Will, Alexandra altered its speed.
Depending on how fast she unleashed Will, the speed of her sword changed accordingly.
And with an inexhaustible source of Will, it was much easier to let it erupt freely than to try to control it. The sheer mass of it made that inevitable.
So while control was difficult, the act of restraint made it all the more entertaining. You could say it was the joy of endurance.
Encrid knew how to endure present urges in pursuit of greater pleasure. And now was the moment to seize that greater pleasure.
The flame burning inside his body scorched all residue away and surged through his body.
It was hot. His hands, feet, even his head—all of it burned.
Explosion.
Encrid focused on that single word. If Lynox was moderation, Alexandra was explosion.
‘Detonate.’
As the Will boiled through his entire body, Encrid took off. Stepping on Ragna’s shoulder, he ran.
He lifted his head and faced forward. In front of the exploding Will, Medusa’s petrifying curse was meaningless.
Truly, it was. Medusa’s curse had no effect. The Will of Rejection became a shield twice its normal size, deflecting everything.
His toes caught on a scale. Using the blade-like scales as steps, he bent his knees and leaped upward. The staircase was rough.
But hadn’t he always enjoyed walking rough roads? And this wasn’t even that rough, honestly.
No stray thoughts intruded. He couldn’t make full use of the Knight’s enhanced perception that usually slowed the world around him.
Normally oppressive air now felt normal.
His body felt light—he felt almost omnipotent.
He kept stepping on the scales, pushing off with strength. His body soared upward like it had forgotten its weight.
If a poet had seen him, they might’ve called it a dragon ascending against the flow of the world.
Keaaaah!
Medusa opened her mouth and hissed. A green miasma spread in a spherical wave, deflecting raindrops as it blocked his path.
Encrid held his breath and tightened his grip on the Three Iron.
Trtrtrtrt—chiiiiiiiing.
The sound was like something heard underwater. As if muffled behind an invisible curtain, sound felt distant.
Crack.
The scabbard cracked. The force Encrid poured into the Three Iron shattered the sheath as he drew his sword.
His blade stretched toward Medusa’s neck. It was the Black Gold side. Even his enhanced perception couldn’t keep up with the sword’s speed.
* * *
"Crazy bastard."
Anahera, who had stumbled to her feet, saw exactly what Encrid had done.
By chance, she’d pierced through the monster horde and advanced, giving her a clear view of Encrid’s actions. Everyone else could see too.
No one here was so dull they’d failed to notice the Medusa up front scattering her petrification curse.
‘And now he was dancing on her back with a sword—how could you not look?’
Medusa, having focused her curse solely on Encrid rather than spraying it everywhere, gave them this chance.
Everyone saw it.
A figure that stepped on Medusa’s tail, leapt skyward, broke his scabbard, and swung his sword like a bolt of lightning.
Even as he ascended, it looked like lightning defying gravity. And as he swung—the image only intensified.
Lightning had taken the form of a sword and severed the monster’s neck.
Thwack!
A thunderous boom echoed like a catapulted boulder slamming into a castle wall.
Medusa’s neck stiffened with raised scales like a shield, but Encrid crushed through it with brute force and tore her throat apart. Black blood gushed from the shredded wound.
Dark rain mixed with the fading drizzle. And yet, Medusa endured. Was it because her neck wasn’t fully severed?
Even with her neck half-cut, she spewed venom, and the snakes on her head lunged downward—not mere ornamentation, but true fangs.
Anahera nearly screamed “Danger!” without meaning to.
But before she could, Encrid’s sword moved like a madman’s, drawing lines through the air. The unsheathed sword slashed through every snake that targeted him and finally finished the half-severed neck.
Slice!
A grotesque sound rang out as Medusa’s head fell through the air. From the dying monster’s mouth came a final scream.
Kyaaaaaaaaah!
Thud!
Her head hit the ground.
Hiss—
The image of the spell-serpent above began to blur.
Shhhraaaaa!
Rain poured as Medusa’s massive body collapsed with a crash. And standing atop her neck, sword embedded, was a man.
"You motherfu—"
Anahera, overwhelmed by the thrill, screamed a curse.
Wooooooo!
A giant’s voice roared.
"Uaaaaah!"
Followed by the voices of men. Every witness erupted in cheers.
It was a moment that tipped the scales back in their favor—naturally, it called for celebration.
And then, from behind the upright Encrid, a massive black mass flew and exploded.
Boom!
Black flames engulfed him. No one had expected this. Everyone stood, mouths agape, unable to respond.
‘What the hell was that? Why isn’t the fire going out even in the rain?’
That question echoed in Anahera’s mind.
Alexandra, watching from the side, was in a similar state.
"Odinkar."
"Yes, I see it too."
In the final moment, the one who appeared behind her was Odinkar. He had come to fight in her place. The head of the house had told them to hide and bide their time.
"It's because I spent time with Ragna and was influenced by him."
He had said as he stepped onto the battlefield.
"A child of Zaun wouldn’t back off just because someone said so."
Alexandra had nodded in reply.
After hacking and slashing for a long while, he'd saved Alexandra.
While ensuring her safety and watching their surroundings, Encrid brought down the Medusa. Ragna’s earlier display had also left a strong impression.
The disappearance of the Spell Serpent was a moment that brought hope to everyone.
But the one who had made it all happen was now engulfed in black flames.
Alexandra’s body was far from normal. Triggering Will exerted extreme strain—fraying nerves and tearing muscles.
Of course, it could be managed with proper control, but there hadn’t been time for that.
"Hold the line here, Odin."
Said the approaching head of the house.
Tempest Zaun. He had ended up slaying four monsters that approached.
Each of them had enough strength to kill a Knight individually, but the head of the house held them off.
Lynox, on the other hand, was seriously wounded. The head of the house himself looked pale, but he was still walking on his own.
"I'm going too."
There was no point in telling them to rest. Odinkar wanted to insist they take a break, but he knew it wasn’t possible.
"I should be the one to go."
He offered, but—
"That's an order. Hold the line. I'm going to see the face of the bastard who tormented my family for twenty years. I'm not backing down."
The head of the house declared firmly and turned away.
By that time, Encrid was still wrapped in black flames.
* * *
Even if learning to control Will was relatively easier for him, it hadn’t come naturally all at once. The same went for moderation and explosion alike.
He still needed to research and train further to truly master them, but he had forced it out this time.
‘It hurts.’
The pain started from the moment Medusa’s neck didn’t fully sever with one strike.
‘Not yet.’
He could still endure. The Will rampaging inside him still had energy. It was like a wild horse craving freedom.
Encrid gave it that freedom.
Continuing to expend Will, he swung his sword again. While airborne, he cut down the incoming snake heads and finished slicing off Medusa’s head with the blade of Silver.
And for a brief moment—he blacked out.
It was a fleeting interval, but long enough for the Ferryman to poke his head in.
Before he could feel the rocking of the river, the Ferryman standing at the bow spoke.
"If you do it again, do you think you’ll do it better? Do you think luck will come twice?"
His short and sharp words carried no malice or kindness—just a calm tone, matter-of-fact and real.
It was a warning: even if today were repeated, the same results would not be guaranteed.
Before Encrid could respond, his mind returned to reality. The image of the Ferryman disappeared in an instant.
It was short enough to call it the blink of an eye.
Standing atop the dead Medusa, sword still buried near her neck—he couldn’t move at all, even if you beat him to death.
He needed at least a few moments to catch his breath and gather some energy.
Right then, the scent of something thick and bitter entered his nostrils.
‘A spell.’
He sensed it, but his body didn’t react in time. A black mass flew in from behind and exploded.
Fwoosh—
Flames spread across his body. Ordinarily, it should have been unbearable—but it wasn’t.
Encrid saw a soft green glow wrap around his body. A scent, familiar—Sinar’s fragrance.
The freshness of morning dew and the smell of grass from a dense forest.
Crackle—
Encrid felt the undergarment gifted to him by the Fairy race crumble to dust.
Like dried leaves, the clothes dried out and fell apart. A rough texture remained against his skin. But Encrid escaped the black flames.
He let his body fall backward, rolling to the ground while regaining balance.
As he rolled using breakfall technique, it felt like screams tore through every part of his body. Blood was flowing freely from the hand clutching the Three Irons.
If moderation allowed you to spill a few drops from a bowl of water, then explosion—if uncontrolled—was like a blade shredding your muscles from the inside.
Maybe it was a blessing that his bones weren’t broken.
‘This hurts like hell.’
And he felt utterly drained.
If you used this technique without regulation, it was basically suicide.
Drunk on omnipotence, if one recklessly overused Will, they’d bleed from every hole and die.
You didn’t need great insight to see that future.
"Is that from the Fairies?"
The voice belonged to an old man with an eye on his forehead.
Beside him was a young woman with a horn on her forehead, and behind them—a grotesque monster with a skeletal body clumsily covered in patches of flesh, all hidden beneath a robe.
Yes, a monster. Calling it human would be an insult to intelligent life.
"So, you really did bring down the Medusa. That bastard Hescal was so confident, and look at this mess."
The old man spoke, while the monster behind him simply shifted its bulging eyeball back and forth between Encrid and Ragna.
Even without anyone saying so, Encrid could tell who it was.
"Nice to meet you, Drmule."
Encrid finally spoke, ignoring the old man and addressing the monster behind him.
The plague wizard stirred. A rotting soul trapped in decaying flesh opened its mouth.
"Indeed."
Even his voice reeked of decay.
"I suppose I should introduce myself."
Encrid coughed violently as he spoke. His insides throbbed. Clearly, his body was a wreck. But this—this he had to say.
"I'm one swordsman."
Then the man beside him, inspired by Encrid, joined in.
"I'm the second swordsman."
Suppressing his coughing, Encrid completed their mockery.
"Together, we’re just two lousy swordsmen."
When given the chance to taunt your enemy, how could you not wag your tongue?
“…You lunatics.”
There was bafflement in Drmule’s voice. For a moment, he almost sounded human.
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