A whip of flame rose stiffly from one side, then surged forward. It pierced through the air with loud thumps, drawing burning arcs like javelins hurled by a giant. It was a sight one might expect from the mythic age.

Still, the fundamentals were the same—block, strike, evade, strike again. Even if the power and speed contained within were of a different order, the basics didn’t change. And among those basics, blocking was his role.

“I can see it.”

The whip wasn’t human, but its line of attack was visible. That meant it could be blocked.

Enkrid moved based on the Wavebreaker Sword Style. He accelerated his cognition «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» and swung Dawn Tempering. His eyes traced long lines through the air, and two blue streaks followed. Afterimages formed by rapid acceleration.

With vision, strength, and reflexes that surpassed human limits, his sword advanced into a realm no ordinary person could imagine.

That’s what Enkrid did.

And just like that, the whip caught on the tip of his sword. At some point, Balrog had taken the whip’s handle in hand. Without a sound, the whip twisted and split into three.

This was the salamandra’s specialty. Dividing its body into multiple segments—a technique easy to fall victim to if unknown.

Enkrid’s sword altered its trajectory mid-swing. What had been a powerful slash suddenly shifted into a light, slicing flick. With it, he deflected the whip’s tips entirely. And as Balrog’s kick came in close, Enkrid used the rebound from the parry to bring his blade down in counter.

The moment he blocked the kick, Balrog’s tail wrapped around Enkrid’s ankle. Crack!

The tail gripped with enough force to snap bone in an instant.

No matter how trained the body, it would have broken.

While Balrog’s attack focused on Enkrid, Audin moved. His massive frame slammed directly into Balrog’s whip-wielding forearm. The instant contact was made, all of Audin’s force accelerated into it, twisting the elbow in reverse and breaking it.

The whip of flame shot upward from below, trying to wrap around Audin’s neck with its red tongue. There was no choice but to evade, and Audin stepped back to dodge, thereby releasing Balrog’s elbow. Of course, he didn’t just let go nicely. While he failed to tear it off completely, he did manage to twist and break it partially.

The crack came from Balrog’s elbow. Judging by the timing, the tail and Audin had moved simultaneously.

Enkrid’s ankle was intact. He had only lost one boot.

The tail had gripped the boot instead of the leg, shredding it apart.

Thwack!

Balrog, having failed to reach his goal, struck the ground with his tail.

“Secret Art: Molting.”

Enkrid muttered casually as he stood still. If he survived this battle, it’d no doubt become a joke for the future.

Just before Enkrid opened his mouth—just as Balrog began swinging whip and foot toward them—Ragna’s blade once again fell upon Balrog, this time imbued with flames. A diagonal slash.

A single strike, but if it wasn’t blocked, Balrog’s body would have been cleaved in two. He blocked with his sword, Surtr.

Squelch.

The blades, both forged of Will, clashed—manifested and hardened—and collided, shattering and grinding against one another.

Since those blades drew their sharpness from their wielder’s Will, they returned to form after the clash. But even that was a loss for Ragna. He was already pushing his Will to the limit.

Even so, he had to swing his sword.

Earlier, it had been Rem who carved a path. This time, Ragna offered himself as bait.

In other words, Ragna trusted that someone would hurl a projectile the moment his clash with Balrog created an opening.

From afar, a projectile flew at Balrog’s chest before the sound could even reach them. The roar followed. His left elbow bent backward, and Surtr, held in his right, was pressed back by Ragna’s earlier strike. Ragna hadn’t blocked with strength alone—he had used Flowing Blade Style to deflect.

“An opening.”

Ragna had a gift for finding the precise moment an opponent’s rhythm collapsed. It wasn’t something only he could see.

Deflecting the opponent’s weapon with Flowing Blade Style was one way of widening that gap. All of this, ultimately, had been for this moment.

A tactic to make the barbarian’s projectile a clean hit.

Balrog blocked the projectile in a strange but effective way. He lowered his head—taking Rem’s fiery howl directly with the horn on his forehead. In other words, he used his head as a shield.

BOOM—!

If he were an ordinary man, his eardrums would have already burst.

The explosion echoed through the entire space shaped by Balrog’s authority. Staggering, he took a step back. It seemed like an opening, but it wasn’t.

The thunder still echoed as Balrog’s constructed space rang from the shockwave. He reeled, but it wasn’t a true weakness.

Enkrid didn’t move, and because everyone else synced their rhythm to his, none of them moved either.

Balrog still had room to spare. His attempts to bait the enemy with grapples made that clear.

“Again. I’ve got it.”

Enkrid spoke again.

Now wearing a boot only on his right foot, he still carried the same unwavering resolve in his voice.

Upright, direct, solid. The shape of his Will, too, had transformed to match. The technique called Indules had become second nature to him now.

He compressed and layered his Will densely.

By filling his entire body with this transformed Will, he could withstand even Balrog’s monstrous sword strikes. He knew this firsthand.

Crackle.

Taking advantage of the brief lull, Balrog shook his left arm, and the twisted limb returned to its original form.

It was regeneration on par with Frokk.

Even before the recovery finished, Balrog moved again. Surtr in his right hand, the whip moving of its own accord. Simultaneously, he extended both limbs. The black flame coating his blade would not extinguish even on contact. And if one got entangled in the burning whip known as Salamandra, flesh would char and bones would break.

Perceiving every one of those attack paths made Enkrid’s head burn.

If he just endured it like this, it’d simply be a repeat of the “calculation” he had used against Balrog the first time.

'If combat computation won’t work...'

The Sword of Coincidence.

He was responding—moment to moment—to Balrog’s onslaught. It was a fight built entirely on response. As long as he blocked, that was enough.

Some theory brushed through his mind, nearly forming, only to scatter again. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in thought. Even the energy used to ponder had to be funneled into a singular focus.

Enkrid did exactly that. He concentrated.

“Don’t calculate probability—

Make even probability turn in your favor.”

He staked everything on a single, simple train of thought.

Balrog’s blade flew in from above in a horizontal cut, and where Enkrid’s right foot should’ve been grounded, Balrog’s foot instead reached out toward his shin.

Balrog supported his entire frame on his left leg while maintaining the full force of his sword swing. His balance and leg strength were terrifying.

So long as the core crystal wasn't shattered, Balrog could regenerate. But Enkrid couldn’t.

If something broke, if he was fractured—it would be fatal.

Which meant even that seemingly light kick could shatter the equilibrium of a delicately stacked stone tower in an instant.

Should he flinch and retreat in fear?

If he were the type to do that, he wouldn’t have stepped forward at all. No—he wouldn’t even have thought of it.

Enkrid opened all his senses and reacted. He saw with his eyes, heard with his ears, felt with his skin. His hypersensitive perceptions became part of his intuition, guiding his motion.

Following that guidance, his right hand slashed upward with Dawn Tempering to block Surtr’s approach, while his left hand drew Penna and thrust it vertically like a shield.

Thunk. Slam!

The clash of swords produced only a dull sound, dampened by the dense Will gathered around them—but where Penna met Balrog’s foot, a boom exploded. Between those two attacks, Balrog’s left hand snuck in.

Enkrid shifted his weight to his right leg and tilted his body sideways to dodge.

Boom!

Balrog’s hand smashed down where Enkrid had just been. The missed strike rippled the air with a shrill vibration.

With his weight still balanced on one leg, Enkrid kicked off and bounced sideways.

Just then, a projectile flew in. No telling how many more they had left, but it was unmistakably Rem’s work.

BOOM!

Balrog batted it away with the back of his left hand. The projectile struck the upper cave wall and shattered it. Debris and dust rained down.

This space may have been constructed through authority, but it had substance.

The falling gray dust blurred the surroundings like soot on a lantern flame.

The fogged visibility might’ve interfered, but none of them were affected.

Meanwhile, Audin, who had been fending off the red whip, struck it aside with a knifehand and threw a punch aimed at Balrog’s chest.

Balrog, still holding Surtr, met the punch with one of his own.

Clang!

A fragment of holy white light shattered and scattered in all directions.

That single exchange gave Balrog the space to twist his sword and slash diagonally toward Audin’s head.

Thunk.

But Enkrid stepped in and blocked it.

A faint gap—barely perceptible—formed. And in that gap, the genius named Ragna slipped his sword through in a straight thrust. It soared in like a flying needle.

Balrog caught Sunrise between his front teeth.

Crunch!

Whether blocked or not, Ragna pushed with full strength, shattering Balrog’s front teeth and tearing his cheek open.

Balrog flowed backward like water. No footsteps, no warning, just a seamless retreat. His mouth was torn open at the sides, giving the impression of someone smiling too widely—like he was having fun.

Then, without pause, he surged forward again. Black mist flowed down the sides of his mouth like liquid. He charged without even taking a breath.

There was no time to rest. No moment to assess, reflect, or gather thoughts.

Enkrid’s cognition accelerated—but still, he could find no sense of leisure in it.

“Don’t block the line—see the dot.”

Even with high-speed thought, only fragmented decision-making was possible.

Enkrid shifted the Wavebreaker Sword Style away from predicting the trajectory of attacks and instead grounded it in pure sensory response.

You could call it a flash of instinct—and even if it relied on luck, it worked. Because it was the right answer.

That’s how he managed to keep deflecting Balrog’s reckless slashes, fists, kicks, wings—and even the occasional flying tail.

CLANG. WHAM!

The fight raged on without pause.

Ragna handled the offense. When an opening appeared, he thrust or slashed with everything he had.

But the openings lasted mere instants—so small and narrow that it felt like he was aiming his sword through the eye of a needle.

If he missed, they had to once again rely on blocking Balrog’s blade, whip, hands, and feet until the next opening emerged.

To Shinar, who watched from afar, this scene was clearer than it was to the ones inside the fray.

If Ragna was the attack...

“Then Audin is balance.”

A body as large as a bear beastman’s—sometimes a shield filled with sanctity, sometimes a hammer swinging with raw force.

“And interference... is that Rem brat.”

Even Shinar called him “that Rem brat.”

The projectiles he threw from afar were at times more threatening than Ragna’s blade.

They served both as suppression and forced openings—and when paired with Ragna’s strikes, they became devastating hammer blows against any exposed part of Balrog’s body.

And all of this was only possible...

Because one man kept standing, blocking Balrog’s monstrous attacks.

Shinar watched everything and reminded herself of a fairy’s characteristic calm.

She fought the urge to run forward and throw herself between Balrog’s swings—to block at least one of his slashes with her own body.

“That wouldn’t help.”

Then... how could she help?

A change was needed.

She wouldn’t have to wait long.