Bloodshot lines filled Rino’s eyes. He raised both of his swords. There was no need to cross them—what mattered now was momentum.

He created momentum through posture. He turned his pressure into form. One sharp blade stabbed at an invisible wall. The awl-like pressure dug into the solid surface and pierced through.

“...What the hell is this?”

Then Rino was faced with a second pressure. The wall wasn’t just one layer.

‘Two separate manifestations of pressure?’

It was understandable to be shocked. This was a trick Rino had never seen before.

Enkrid believed his opponent wouldn’t easily break through, crushed under the formless pressure that resembled Balrog’s. Of course, pressure alone couldn’t kill—but that wasn’t the point. There were other purposes, but this was also a simple experiment in form.

“I didn’t make it to fight you, teacher.”

Enkrid spoke kindly. The words were sincere, even considerate.

“Bullshit!”

Rino roared. The sensation of being overwhelmed by another’s aura only stoked his rage further.

“Take it easy.”

Enkrid, once again, showed him courtesy. Rino’s eyes looked as though the blood vessels were about to burst.

‘Son of a bitch.’

Rino focused again. The veins on the back of his hands holding the twin blades bulged like writhing red serpents.

Enkrid acted like a spectator. He didn’t move—only applied pressure. In a way, it was exactly what Balrog used to do.

Even when he saw an opening, he only stared. The difference was negligible.

On one side stood serenity; on the other, pulsating veins around eyes and knuckles revealed Rino’s boiling state of mind.

Still, pressure was just pressure. A knight could overcome it with time. That was natural.

Rino did exactly that. He broke through three walls.

“Uoooh!”

He let out a war cry. Of course, it was part of the feint. In truth, from the halfway point, Teacher Rino had been biding time, waiting for the right moment to leap the wall.

It was also a tactic to maintain his optimal condition. And if Enkrid rushed him while he waited, he planned to counter.

But Enkrid just observed the entire process—and after hearing the shout, calmly drew Dawn Tempering.

Even that motion wasn’t fast. It was smooth, natural—like a host inviting in a guest.

And that made it all the more terrifying. Rino knew this instinctively.

Ki-ri-ri-ring.

As the blade gleamed sky-blue, it suddenly thrust toward Rino’s solar plexus, between the twin swords he had just drawn.

The draw and thrust merged into one. If broken into parts, it would be draw, pull, and stab—three steps. But the graceful flow made them appear as one.

Tadang!

The swords that flashed like lightning were just about to cross, but they never met. They were blocked by Dawn Tempering.

A wall of sky-colored steel separated the twin blades—like two desperate lovers kept apart.

“...You read that fast!”

Rino shouted again. The excited tone was, again, a part of the deception.

Of course, it didn’t work. Enkrid had long since grown used to Teacher Rino’s tactics. He had observed every motion in detail—blocking even the unexpected with calculated precision. He severed every starting point.

Every one of Teacher Rino’s subsequent attacks was intercepted.

When Rino began a move by stepping forward with his left foot, Enkrid kicked that foot. When Rino tried to cross his swords again, Enkrid shoved Dawn Tempering between them.

Then Rino drew a dagger that looked like its blade was warped or bent. The blade was strange—five jagged, sawtooth-like protrusions, resembling the fangs of a beast. He used it to catch Dawn Tempering.

Then he tried to snap Enkrid’s blade in half.

Kagagagagang!

Sparks flew violently from the dagger as it clashed with Dawn Tempering. The metal screamed.

Enkrid didn’t even check the condition of his blade.

He didn’t have to. The only thing that broke was the teeth on the dagger.

“My engraved weapon doesn’t break.”

When linked to his Will, its toughness could withstand even Balrog’s swordplay. He’d already tested it.

He simply used the full potential of his weapon. The hardness of Dawn Tempering was itself a weapon.

Failing to snap the blade, Rino tried to retreat while Enkrid was kindly explaining.

But Enkrid chased after the retreating Rino, drew Penna, and slashed.

The blade sliced clean through Rino’s body.

“...This bastard’s swordsmanship...”

He used the moment of not revealing his weapon’s durability as a chance to strike. That was mastery in using your weapon.

Rino’s words were laced with admiration.

Enkrid answered calmly.

“Learned it from you, teacher.”

“Shit... don’t give me that teacher crap... Still, that was fun.”

Those were the last words that slipped out of his split lips.

“...Well, I suppose that’s enough then, teacher.”

Enkrid answered the air. The torchlight flickered. Shadows swayed.

He walked, recognizing that this had been his longest fight since meeting Rino. It had been intentional.

He passed through a corridor where the torchlight didn’t reach—and when it did again, someone was waiting.

“My name is Donapha!”

Enkrid raised his sword without answering. This one was the type to converse through weapons, not words.

Even when facing Donapha’s axe swings, the structure of the fight didn’t change much.

Block, block again.

Just as he accepted Rino’s attacks, he did the same here.

Using the Wavebreaker sword style as a foundation, his defense simplified his thinking—clearing away impurities. He blocked and deflected the falling axe.

‘Balrog’s swordplay.’

The resemblance was uncanny. For an instant, Donapha’s Will condensed around the axe. It wasn’t even a Point Explosion, but the axe swing overcame the force meant to deflect it—and came crashing down above his head.

Sharper than a guillotine, the pressure constricted his entire body—like iron chains coiling tightly around him.

‘Choosing simplicity over complexity.’

Donapha’s axe swings, based on the greatsword style, were tangled with manifest pressure. If Balrog’s was a chain and Enkrid’s a wall, then Donapha’s was a net—ensnaring the entire body.

‘If someone were to rework Balrog’s pressure into an axe technique...’

It would resemble Donapha’s. He had unraveled even the principle and source of the technique.

Where Rino had focused on Balrog’s wings and special weaponry, Donapha had built his skill upon Balrog’s pressure.

But it posed no threat to Enkrid.

The Will of Rejection tore through and shook off the net on its own. Moving his body afterward was easy.

The terrifyingly fast axe splits the air with a boom, but still—slower than Rem’s axe. That’s how it felt.

Enkrid dodged and deflected Donapha’s axe, even after watching it with his own eyes. A textbook defense. The sword that blocks waves now blocked axes.

“Wuaaap!”

Even after his first strike failed and no counterattack followed, Donapha immediately gathered his strength and swung his axe again.

By now, Enkrid had already figured out Donapha’s tactics. After facing him over two hundred times, it was impossible not to know. Internally, he even considered Donapha a teacher and had learned from his techniques.

‘When his opponent, who dodged the first swing, has even the slightest break in posture...’

He buys time for the next axe swing. That’s Donapha’s strategy. A fascinating way to fight.

Each attack exists to buy time for the next. It’s a method of enduring “today.”

At least, that’s how it registered in Enkrid’s mind.

Another long battle unfolded. Donapha swung his axe eighty times. If he hadn’t taken the form of a Dullahan, his arm muscles might’ve torn apart.

His forearms had turned dark as if charred, and thick, black veins bulged grotesquely over them.

That kind of condition doesn’t happen without severe muscular overload.

He was swinging his axe with full power every single time. Donapha wasn’t built to cut down a thousand men. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

But against a hundred warriors capable of defeating a thousand—he’d do far better.

Everyone fights differently depending on how they’ve trained. Donapha had carved out his own path.

In that sense, Rino was the same.

That’s why there was something to be learned from both of them.

Training isn’t something an amateur fool can do just by spending time. These were the real thing among the worthless braggarts who chased empty fame while claiming skill without substance.

In the end, Donapha’s arm muscles weren’t going to tear.

‘He’s trained that much.’

He was a knight, too.

And no matter how often his attacks were blocked, his spirit didn’t break. He simply swung his axe again.

On the eighty-second swing, Enkrid deflected it and cut diagonally across Donapha’s waist.

His body spun on his left foot as the condensed force of a vortex exploded outward. Will flowed from ankle, knee, waist, arm, and hand—rolling downhill like a boulder and culminating in the sword.

The sky-blue light of Dawn Tempering deepened, forming a sharp edge. It was the best strike Enkrid could deliver.

Because Donapha’s axe had clearly weakened from the first swings, there was no need to drag it out any longer.

If all he did was block, Donapha would only die with a strangled cry and a curse.

He’d done this before. And because he’d learned from it, Enkrid gave him the courtesy this time.

Of course, “courtesy” meant slicing his opponent in two.

A cloud of black mist scattered backward.

“I lost.”

The severed head rolling to the side spoke. As usual, Donapha accepted defeat—and today, his tone was notably satisfied.

His head dissolved into grains and vanished. He had nothing more to say.

He’d realized his loss earlier. He knew the fight had been prolonged intentionally. But that final, heavy strike was exactly what Donapha had wanted.

Was he truly satisfied? It was hard to know for sure, beyond instinct.

Well, there was no way to ask him now.

Enkrid pushed forward through the darkness once again.

“Oh ho, seems you can use a sword, huh?”

The One-Edged Sword Wielder, third among the teachers Enkrid met recently, came at him with those words. Enkrid had deliberately set the stage to let her come to him—giving her room to unleash everything she had. Another deliberate delay.

He committed fully to defense, minimizing his movements and conserving energy to the bare minimum required.

Her Will, growing more spirited, and her long breaths—excellent techniques, but wasteful. He learned the basics from her, then built his own on top.

It wasn’t something he planned. It just flowed naturally.

Because Enkrid surpassed her in skill, understanding, and resolve, this outcome followed.

‘Minimize waste.’

And manage his emotions just before they tipped into omnipotence.

He had learned all the tricks.

Tadang, dang, dang.

Blades occasionally clashed, but neither body bore a scratch. Enkrid blocked her attacks in various ways.

Sometimes, he even used the fairy cloak to deflect her blade.

Each time, the One-Edged Sword Wielder’s eyebrows twitched higher. Finally, as her excitement faded and frustration overtook her, she—like Donapha—went all-in on one decisive strike.

It was likely one of her hidden trump cards, but Enkrid had seen that technique thirty-five times already.

He stepped back, exiting the range of her strike, then leapt in—completely disrupting her timing.

‘Even knights fight simply.’

A knight might run fast enough to leave afterimages or swing a blade faster than sound. They could smash boulders and slice through fortress walls.

But the basics never changed.

Steal the timing, read the breath, dodge, strike, deceive, strike again, predict—and cut.

It was a fight faithful to that process.

If the Ferryman had seen this, he’d probably ask: “So this is how you endure today?”

“Shit.”

The One-Edged Sword Wielder cursed as she died.

It’s understandable to be pissed when all your attacks are blocked and you die from a single strike.

Still, her face showed something close to satisfaction.

She had fought by dragging out her limits for the first time in a while.

Not for amusement, but because her opponent had drawn out everything she had.

“Thanks.”

Maybe that’s why. She left behind unexpected words.

Before Enkrid could respond, she vanished into wisps.

He pressed forward again—and when firelight appeared, he’d reached today’s destination.

“You’re here.”

It was Oara.

“Yes.”

Enkrid calmly sat beside her where the firelight glowed. So far, it was like any other “today.” Or rather, this one was clearly different in how much time he’d drawn out.

Of course, all that time had been dedicated to the three teachers.

Eventually, after various bits of conversation, Oara began to wrap up her words.

“Hah... I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see you again here or not. Honestly, if Roman had shown up, I was going to send him away.”

As she spoke, she placed a hand ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) on her knee. She grunted slightly as she moved to stand—but Enkrid casually spoke up.

“How about a spar, since it’s been a while?”

The way he blinked after speaking was unmistakably like Ragna—completely oblivious.

In fact, he had copied him on purpose.

For a moment, Oara looked taken aback. She seemed to be thinking, Can I really? as she hesitated.

Then she blinked and nodded.

“Sounds good.”

She drew her sword. Srrrring— But the engraved weapon known as "Laughter" was gone.

Instead, a simple longsword rested in her hand.