“Role distribution.”

It was the formation Enkrid had envisioned—tactics sketched out through countless repetitions of today.

He couldn’t explain every detail in the moment, but if he showed it, they’d understand.

“They’ve done it before.”

When breaking through Count Molsen’s spectral army, they’d moved in sync. This battle would be far more complex, of course. That much was obvious. The opponent was different, and they themselves had grown stronger. The changes would cause some margin of error.

Fwsh—

The flame whip came flying without warning. The arcing fire serpent in the air twisted into a snare, aiming to coil around Audin’s forearm.

The movements were so fast, it looked as if the flames had stretched out a curtain of fire across the sky. An illusion created by afterimages.

Enkrid stepped into that gap. Audin reflexively raised a fist, then backed off. Enkrid gently slid his sword into the snare and deflected it. If you tried to cut it, it would tangle and bind. Experience had taught him how to deal with it.

“Brother?”

Audin called out.

“I’m the one who blocks.”

Enkrid repeated himself.

Then Balrog twisted his left wrist downward, pressed the sole of his foot to the floor, and smoothly shifted forward. His right index finger flicked upward before gripping Surtr tightly once again.

All of this threw glitches into Enkrid’s predictive calculations. But what made Balrog truly troublesome wasn’t the fire-whip moving on its own, the black flame-belching sword, or even the horns.

“Grappling.”

Balrog was a master of grappling.

Even if one fought by condensing Will, slicing through rock and steel with superhuman speed—once in combat, it came down to dodging, parrying, striking, and slashing.

Balrog had mastered that logic. If necessary, he would discard his sword, add a faint feint with his body, then land a kick to the gut.

Enkrid had fallen for it multiple times. Could he predict and avoid all that?

That was why he created a sword technique:

Wavebreaker Sword.

A sword that could block even waves themselves. Its method: defense. Its training: mental discipline. He fused everything he had learned until now—Serendipity Blade, Vortex, all of it—to form this.

Balrog’s body wavered left and right, leaving hazy afterimages. Then, like a sudden burst, he launched rightward, slashing his sword toward Shinar as she stepped back.

Enkrid’s body followed. He inserted himself between Balrog and Shinar, swinging his sword. As his thoughts accelerated, he read the arc of Balrog’s swing.

Then Balrog extended a leg.

A pattern he’d been caught by more than once—so this time, he was ready.

He parried the sword, pulled it back, and struck the sole of Balrog’s foot with his pommel.

Boom!

A thunderous shockwave burst between them. Enkrid retreated three steps, dissipating the excess force, while Balrog pulled back his leg and launched off the ground again without pause.

He’d said role distribution, but their coordination was far from smooth. If the Mad Order of Knights were one body, then their limbs were tangled.

Rem couldn’t get a proper spin on his sling. Ragna hadn’t even drawn his sword—just watched, indifferent.

Jaxon had stepped back entirely. Shinar had drawn her Leaf Blade but, aware of her physical state, poured all her energy into evasive maneuvers.

“Brother!”

Balrog swung his left hand like a knife and slashed at Enkrid’s wrist. Audin shouted in alarm.

But not a drop of blood spilled.

“I’m fine.”

Enkrid answered calmly. His left hand was wrapped twice over with cloth gauntlets. At some point, he’d even removed the one from his right hand and added it to the left.

He had Will imbued in it, of course.

The cloth tore deeply, parts of it dangling loose.

“How to use your tools.”

An application of what he’d learned from Master Rino.

Rino had demonstrated how to fuse Will into weapons, and Enkrid had learned it thoroughly.

Whether Rino had meant to teach or not—Enkrid didn’t care.

If their opponent had been anything less, they would’ve synchronized and fought properly by now. But Balrog disrupted them constantly, almost as if he knew.

To him, this was a game. He couldn’t even imagine losing. And that made his Will all the heavier, all the more solid.

But the same was true for Enkrid.

“Tch. So what now?”

Rem grumbled behind him.

It sounded like a group of discordant musicians fumbling through a piece, but once they saw what needed to be done—they’d follow through. That belief had not wavered.

In fact, Enkrid truly believed in it.

If not?

Then they’d all die. That was inevitable.

Balrog was a monster none of them could take on alone.

Was it a slip in his defense—or an intentional opening to bait them?

Balrog attempted to crush them all at once with a solidified form of pressure.

Burning chains wrapped around their bodies. His manifested oppression wasn’t easily shaken off.

But Enkrid had shaken it off countless times.

“Reject.”

The rampart within him deflected the chain and flung it off.

Pressure—formed from terror and killing intent—was the weapon of monsters. That Balrog could wield it so well was no surprise. But this time, it was repelled.

And not just by Enkrid.

Incantation had always been good at rejecting forces like this.

“Not happening.”

Rem jumped backward several steps, shaking off the pressure. He hadn’t escaped the domain, but the act itself carried a spell-like resonance, diverting the attack.

“In the Lord Father, I know no fear.”

Audin confronted it head-on, adorned in Divine Radiance armor.

Cling.

Ragna drew Sunrise just two finger joints’ worth and sliced through the pressure with sheer force of presence.

Before Balrog could intensify it, Jaxon had already moved behind Audin, and Shinar flanked Enkrid at the same timing.

Each of them had nullified Balrog’s pressure in their own way.

—Excellent!

Balrog let out a burst of joy as he watched.

His Surtr erupted in black flame, and the giant greatsword doubled in size. The flame whip twisted wildly through the air, bloating with burning mass.

At the same time, two wings on Balrog’s back spread wide.

The shadows and fire erupting from him swallowed everything in the vicinity. A thick, acrid scent of burning filled the air.

It was Balrog’s stench.

And then—

Flaaap—

Enkrid’s cloak spread wide behind him, swelling like a banner in windless air.

If Balrog used his wings to dominate the surroundings, Enkrid wrapped himself in his cloak to anchor his space.

Zzzzzzzzhng.

As Surtr breathed flame, Dawn Tempering answered with a cry. The sword’s howl reverberated through Enkrid’s grip, traveling across his entire body.

It was an engraved weapon, forged with its master’s Will. And now, that Will resonated—communicating with the blade.

The edge of Dawn Tempering shimmered with a sky-colored light, radiating outward and merging with the divine brilliance emitted by Audin. From above, it looked as if Balrog’s shadow claimed half the space, while the other half was blocked by radiant light and azure shine.

Chiriring—

Through the gap, the god who devours night and darkness revealed his face.

“I’ll be the one to cut him.”

Spoke the wielder of Sunrise.

“You can’t do it alone, bastard.”

Came a voice from the vivid shadow behind the holy light and dawn-glow. Rem, standing there, now bore an unfamiliar symbol in his eyes, and the shadow at his back had transformed into a small form with elongated limbs.

A manifestation of divine possession—Rem had activated a shamanic rite, layering the divine energy of the Western gods atop it.

“You think I only watch?”

Shinar cloaked the air with scents of wood and flowers.

“Don’t mind me.”

Jaxon stepped into the darkness, belonging to no part of the cave. But of course—moonlight always illuminated the night.

He held the moon within him, and so he never lost his way, even in pitch-black shadow.

“At full strength.”

Carelessness meant death. And death, like a close friend, always loomed nearby. For Enkrid—who had repeated today countless times—that sensation was only stronger.

But right now, thoughts like that didn’t exist in his mind.

Thump—

His heart pounded so fiercely it echoed in his temples. The pulse surged with wild rhythm.

Balrog no longer smiled. Not because he’d lost interest, but because he’d decided to move seriously.

It was the same expression Enkrid often wore when staking his life to shatter a crystal.

Fwup.

A sound like that seemed to echo. When Balrog moved with intent, it felt like stepping into a crack in time.

To survive that, Enkrid had to willfully elevate his bodily reflexes and dynamic vision to an elite level. Otherwise, he’d fall behind. Balrog surpassed him in raw physical ability—power, speed, everything. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

“Accelerate.”

With mental acceleration, he raised his reaction speed. Enkrid’s thoughts narrowed to a single path: trace Balrog’s movement.

“I see it.”

You could call it the evolved form of Wavebreaker Sword.

At times, he would split his thinking for tactical evaluation; at others, he’d focus it all into one thread to capture the instant of an enemy’s move.

High and low tempo flipped without pause—rage and calm interwove without pattern.

It was relentless tempo control. One had to sprint at full speed, then stop in place and fall into stillness. A feat that could only be achieved by someone who’d done it endlessly.

And Enkrid had done it endlessly.

The technique of reaching a Point Explosion from a motionless state—this, too, was one branch of Will usage.

“I can block it.”

Enkrid surrendered himself to exhilaration. Like a madman, he read the rhythm of Balrog’s attack, shoved ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) in Dawn Tempering, parried a punch with his elbow, and diverted the flow.

BOOM! Fwoosh! BANG! CHIING!

Black sparks flew as the sky-hued blade met shadowed fire, punching holes into the cavern walls.

What separates Enkrid’s Will from that of Balrog—or the rest of the Knight Order?

Enkrid had tested and refined it. He’d even hired three new teachers and flung himself into battle under their guidance. On the Ferryman’s raft, his contemplation had continued.

Hundreds of thoughts crossed his mind as he swung his sword.

He trained by dragging time forward. Bought more moments to practice.

“You little bastard—cut the crap.”

His teachers often lost their temper. But all that time he dedicated was no waste.

It had been Enkrid’s own form of apology.

He split his hours finely. Never wasted a single today. He always acted like it was the last.

“I wanna crack your skull open and see what’s inside.”

He could almost hear the Ferryman’s voice, laced with genuine admiration.

A Will that never dries up was called Uske. But when the very nature of that Will changes—that’s Induless.

“Induless.”

It meant transformation of Will’s properties.

The technique used in Zaun had been about managing Will. What he realized now was different.

Until now, Enkrid had shaped and molded his Will like an alchemist or a sculptor. He had carved it, shattered it, compressed it, kneaded it, refined it, and let it flow.

And through all that, what his Knight Order had once demonstrated entered the realm of comprehension.

Jaxon, for example, would condense his Will into a thin blade when needed. Combined with his relic, that became Induless—his Will fundamentally transformed.

Audin forged radiant stone pillars from light.

Rem compressed swirling wind into a tight grip and swung it like a blade.

Ragna, with nothing but the will to cut, turned his Will into a sword.

Could this really all be coincidence?

No. They’d pushed each other long enough that even Rem unconsciously said “us.”

That’s how they became this.

Enkrid shaped his Will into bricks and stacked them. A single brick might crumble with one kick—but together, they formed a wall.

The Induless Wall of Will.

BOOM!

Balrog’s Surtr pierced a gap in Enkrid’s calculations and came crashing down vertically.

Enkrid powered his foot, glutes, and abs simultaneously, raising his blade parallel to the ground to block and endure.

There had been a time, not long ago, when this same blow had driven him to his knees—or flung him back countless times.

But now, he could block it.

Balrog’s flaming sword had compressed into a solid blade of fire.

“Dawn Tempering won’t break.”

He believed in his engraved weapon.

He added nothing but simple thought: block it. Nothing else.

A lesson from Donapha. Heightened clarity, fused with the long breathing of the One-Edged Sword, and the sense of omnipotence that came with mastery—Enkrid drew it all together and focused his Will.

He blocked.

Behind the horizontal blade, the corners of his mouth rose. He didn’t even realize he was smiling.

Balrog smiled back.

“You blocked that?” his eyes seemed to say.

The flame that replaced his pupils spun wildly with joy.

Even if joy led to death—he’d still fight. That was his reason for existing.

Such was Balrog’s life.

The forceful swing—charged with tremendous power—was blocked.

That moment created an opening in Balrog’s movements, and in turn, the previously clumsy members of the group began to align.

Click.

It was the sound of mismatched gears finally clicking into place—not literally heard, but felt.

While still in his downward swing, Balrog raised only his left hand to shield his forehead.

BOOM!

A projectile exploded above his arm, scattering black crystal dust that shimmered as it diffused light. Of course—it was Rem’s doing.

“This deputy commander’s gonna cram it in, so you lot move on your own, yeah?”

His nonsense echoed loud.

It was a mental assault.

Whether directed at the enemy or their own team—it was hard to say.