A night passed.
Enkrid did not return.
At some point, the enemy had begun retreating, like the tide receding from shore.
But Ragna hadn’t come back either.
Jaxon was missing as well.
Kraiss realized the gravity of the situation.
No, it wasn’t just realization—it was foreboding.
A relentless, gnawing dread that dug into his thoughts.
"Where is the highest vantage point nearby?
A place with a clear view."
Despite it all, he remained calm.
If the disaster had already struck, then there was no room for panic.
Enkrid was missing.
‘If the commander dies, I’m probably dead too, huh?’
What would happen if Enkrid returned as a corpse?
Rem would probably hurl a battle-axe without hesitation.
A dark thought—half a joke, but only half.
Bad.
Even if Enkrid hadn’t died, things were bad.
If the commander disappeared, the consequences would be endless.
Kraiss couldn’t name them all, but he could feel it.
One thing was certain.
Mad Platoon would be finished.
Who could control Rem, Ragna, Jaxon, or Audin?
No one.
Once upon a time, they might have tolerated a scarecrow leader, but not anymore.
They had changed.
Now, only their commander could keep them together.
And if they fell apart—
Could the Border Guard hold off Azpen’s invasion next spring?
Not a chance.
‘If Enkrid dies, I’m out of here. No looking back.’
What was he, a patriot?
Was he going to die for this place?
Kraiss stood beneath the shade of a tree, deep in thought.
Meanwhile, Nurat, having studied the maps and the terrain, spoke up.
“Follow me.”
Kraiss stood cloaked in shadow, exuding an eerie presence.
Nurat noticed—but said nothing.
Something felt off.
Was it because Enkrid was gone?
A fleeting thought.
A woman’s intuition.
She was right.
Kraiss with Enkrid and Kraiss without Enkrid felt like entirely different people.
“Move faster.”
Kraiss urged her on.
Nurat brought two horses, and they rode swiftly.
They passed several hills before the terrain turned harsh.
The climb required half-clinging to the rocks.
A strong body and well-trained muscles—what lady wouldn’t appreciate them?
Kraiss took care of his physique for that very reason.
Scaling a steep mountain path was nothing.
Nurat, a seasoned warrior, made the climb even easier.
At the summit, Kraiss cast his gaze far ahead.
“Crazy bastards.”
The morning sun illuminated the battlefield.
The enemy’s formations became clear.
They were lurking between the ridges, hidden away.
Should they pursue?
Should they hunt them down?
Bad move.
What if they chased too deep and were ambushed?
This terrain was perfect for an ambush.
Even if morale was high and they had won the last battle,
‘We don’t have overwhelming numbers.’
If they got caught, the tide could turn instantly.
No—driving them out had always been the goal.
From the beginning, that had been the plan.
Winter was on their side.
‘How do they plan to survive in this cold?
Where’s their supply line?’
Why did Azpen covet Greenpelt so much?
Because beyond Naurellia’s fertile plains, it was a land of hardship.
Hills, valleys, treacherous mountains, and monster-infested lands.
Surviving winter here was no easy feat.
Four to five days—that was all the enemy could last.
This was already a victory.
Now, they just had to sit tight and fire arrows until the enemy starved or froze.
There was only one problem.
Enkrid was missing.
‘Did they seriously sacrifice this entire battlefield just to kill one man?
Did they abandon the war just to take out a few people?’
Reckless.
Tactical suicide.
A small elite force was supposed to win battles—not throw away the war.
This battlefield was about securing the future.
Would they really go that far?
The grim suspicion slithered into his mind.
Kraiss had found an answer, but he couldn’t be sure.
It was too extreme a move.
“One more day.”
Kraiss decided to wait for Enkrid.
Nurat felt uneasy at those words, but she didn’t argue.
The man with lost eyes had a presence too fierce to question.
***
One day.
Abnaier let time simmer.
There was no need to rush.
He needed time to prepare as well.
The place where Enkrid had been cornered—
A valley, flanked by three ridges and a cliff.
A deliberate death trap.
Meticulously prepared.
A stage set to kill a handful of men.
‘No unexpected variables?’
He had planted the seeds and nurtured them to fruition.
Now, it was time to harvest.
Harvesting required blood, but Abnaier was certain it was worth it.
He could not afford failure.
Abnaier sipped his tea, sugar dissolving into the warmth.
Sweetness fueled the mind.
What variables remained?
No mistakes.
No matter how skilled the target, Enkrid was not a knight.
He couldn’t escape the trap set for him.
Abnaier had studied the Border Guard after his last defeat.
Had he lost because of the knights?
No.
He had already lost before they arrived.
He had analyzed the battle.
Torn apart the war piece by piece.
And the answer was clear.
The most uptodate nove𝙡s are published on frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓.
Enkrid and the Mad Platoon.
Their raids on the outskirts.
Their sabotage of supply lines.
Those pieces led to his downfall.
Hearing of their exploits only solidified his resolve.
Even in the city, they never stayed quiet.
Wherever Hurrier appeared, assassins were cut down.
Before the name Enkrid, all schemes crumbled.
They were untouchable ghosts.
So—
‘I will catch him.’
Abnaier had prepared for this moment.
This was his battlefield.
He had set his trap.
It started with bandits and zealots—mere pawns in the game.
And he had a good hand.
He played it well.
‘The Black Blades and cultists aren’t weak either.’
Their presence fractured the Border Guard.
He waited for the right moment.
He let them drift apart.
It would have been ideal if the Black Blades or cultists had killed a few for him.
No such luck.
But they had split up nonetheless.
Enkrid had left Rem, Audin, and Teresa behind.
‘Catching a group is amateur work.’
Besides, Abnaier’s true art was embedded in the land itself.
For Enkrid, he had sealed off the terrain with the Triangle Seal.
For the rest of Mad Platoon, he had sent tailored assassins.
And for the final blow—
He would kill them.
His mouth felt dry.
He drank another sip of tea, swallowing his thoughts.
The cost was steep.
And what he would gain?
Just a few severed heads.
At least, that’s what it would seem like.
But to Abnaier, those heads were the greatest threat to Azpen’s future.
His plans were set.
Sunlight and cold wind entered his tent.
It wasn’t too cold today.
A good day.
“Begin.”
With a soft clink, he set down his teacup.
It was time to claim Enkrid’s head.
***
Enkrid didn’t consider this a crisis.
This wasn’t even something he would call dangerous.
It wasn’t as if a blade was pressing against his throat right this moment.
Hiding himself within the underbrush, Enkrid focused entirely on resting.
First, my body.
His stamina was already at a level that could be called superhuman.
A single night was enough to replenish whatever energy he had lost.
It wouldn’t restore him to a perfect state, but it would be enough.
His body had adapted.
The Isolation Technique—Audin’s gift.
Should I thank him for it?
The thought came to him unexpectedly.
Maybe when he returned, he could at least acknowledge that he owed Audin one.
Stamina aside...
Even if his endurance was monstrous, his body had taken a toll.
He had spent the entire day swinging his sword.
It would have been strange if his body weren’t feeling the strain.
Both his forearms were bruised, the fine blood vessels bursting beneath the skin.
It wasn’t just the sword. He had used his fists, his feet.
He hadn’t been able to focus entirely on attacking.
After all, he had been fighting alone in the middle of enemy lines.
There was no way to block every attack.
Instead, he relied on his sense of evasion to deflect only the most threatening blows, dodging when he could, and taking the rest with his body.
More precisely, his pauldrons, gauntlets, and shin guards absorbed the impact.
To most, it would have been madness, but Enkrid didn’t consider it reckless.
Not when he had learned the technique from Audin.
A true knight wouldn’t even find this difficult.
Reviewing the battle in his mind, Enkrid chewed on a strip of jerky and walked over to a stream to quench his thirst.
The water was clear.
He drank it without boiling it first. If he got sick from something like this, it would have to be poisoned.
The sound of water flowing nearby suggested that a valley wasn’t far.
One night of rest. I’ll leave tomorrow.
Even without a clear sense of direction, there were ways to find an exit.
Pick a direction. Walk straight.
Even if he chose wrong, once his sense of orientation returned, getting out wouldn’t be difficult.
That was how he saw it.
I wonder how the battlefield turned out?
There had been no way to look back, no time to assess the field.
Enkrid had done his part.
He had focused entirely on fighting and achieved this outcome.
He didn’t know it yet, but a single battle had tilted the scales.
The battle’s end would be marked by Naurillia’s victory.
The dead, however, would remain as they were—unchanging, unavenged.
Enkrid didn’t know the exact state of the battlefield, but he could tell there was no need for him to continue fighting.
Azpen had become a wounded deer, bleeding out under the fangs of a predator.
He hadn’t coordinated the battle, hadn’t even seen all of it.
But he could feel the flow.
Finding a suitable tree, he spread some leaves beneath it.
Blocking the wind, he closed his eyes.
He needed sleep.
Rest wasn’t complete without it.
When he opened his eyes again, dawn was breaking.
His body, honed through countless cycles of battle, shifted instantly into combat readiness.
Rustle.
The sound of footsteps over grass.
It was good he hadn’t lit a fire.
Otherwise, he would have given away his position for free.
Actually, this might work out.
He could use them.
If he caught one, he could force them to tell him where he was—and how to get out.
Enkrid held his breath and listened.
He sharpened his hearing.
At the same time, he slowly stretched, starting from his fingers, loosening his stiff muscles, warming his body against the cold.
His ears picked up their position.
Rustle.
Left.
Shuffle.
Right.
The noise was close.
Too close.
Enkrid, his head still lowered, shifted his gaze.
What the hell?
This wasn’t °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° a small scouting party.
This was an entire unit.
They were combing through the underbrush with their spears.
The thunk, thunk of blades stabbing into bushes filled the air.
Too many eyes.
Even at a glance, the numbers were overwhelming.
Counting them was pointless.
Which meant getting spotted was inevitable.
“There he is!”
His eyes met the enemy’s.
Sharp eyes.
Rising to his full height, Enkrid exhaled.
“Catch him!”
The soldiers surged toward him.
Fighting wasn’t always the answer.
Enkrid dodged.
He wasn’t an idiot.
Kraiss often said his commander had a good head on his shoulders.
He wasn’t wrong.
Enkrid thought fast.
Rather than engage, running would be—
Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk!
A hail of arrows.
They’ve lost their minds.
They were firing without any concern for their own.
Enkrid raised his sword, deflecting the arrows he couldn’t dodge.
Spotting a massive tree, he darted behind it for cover.
Thud!
Several arrows embedded themselves into the trunk.
“Gah!”
“Urk!”
As expected, some arrows had hit their own men.
But the barrage didn’t stop.
“Keep firing!”
“More! Keep him pinned!”
Arrows rained down.
Enkrid glanced at his blade.
Then, he swung.
A full-force rotation slash.
Boom!
The impact exploded through the air.
As his sword struck the tree, half of its trunk was severed.
At the same time, a deep crack ran down the length of his blade.
It had already been damaged from the previous battle.
Switching to his gladius, he activated Heart of Might.
His muscles swelled with power.
This time, his weapon smashed through the remaining half of the tree.
Crack!
Snap!
The tree tilted.
“Huh?”
The soldier directly beneath it hesitated.
A moment later, the tree crashed down, splintering branches as it fell.
“Move!”
“Shit!”
The enemy scrambled.
Enkrid took the opening and ran.
South—probably.
His damaged sword was discarded, replaced with Ember at his right hip.
“There!”
A wall of heavy infantry blocked his path.
Tower shields lined up, sealing the way forward.
There were over fifty of them.
And more enemy soldiers were closing in from the sides.
Too many.
Had someone else been trapped here too?
Enkrid stepped back.
He could cut through most of them.
But after that?
He wasn’t reckless.
That was why he was still alive.
He turned and sprinted.
Kicking a stone into the air, he smacked it with the flat of his gladius.
Ping!
The pebble shot forward, faster than an arrow.
Crack!
It struck the forehead of a soldier reloading a crossbow.
There.
A gap.
Dashing forward, Enkrid plunged into the ranks.
Like a beast leaping into a herd.
His right hand cut and bashed with the gladius.
His left hand thrust with Ember.
The sword wasn’t meant for slashing.
He stabbed instead.
After cutting down six, a path opened.
An artificial trail, made by human hands.
This works.
Just as he thought he was in the clear—
“Fire.”
Bolts shot from both sides.
They had used their crossbowmen as bait.
Clever.
And ruthless.
Enkrid rolled forward.
One bolt struck his armor.
It didn’t pierce his flesh, but he had no time to pull it out.
He kept running.
Cutting down enemies as he moved.
Left, right, back again—cut, thrust, dodge.
The battle had started at dawn.
By dusk, it was still going.
There was no escape.
It felt like a labyrinth.
At some point, he even saw a wall of stones, deliberately stacked.
When the hell did they set that up?
It was absurd.
No brute force would break through.
Not with an army at his back.
“You people...”
He wasn’t wounded, but his arms trembled.
From constant running, constant swinging.
Even knights had limits.
A knight could kill a thousand alone.
A squire could not.
And he was not a knight.
Panting, Enkrid ran.
Abnaier, watching from afar, muttered to himself.
“Kill a thousand.”
Then he could survive.
Otherwise, he would die.
Azpen’s strategist was certain.
Thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip!
The final volley.
Enkrid had killed and killed.
But now, he was surrounded.
Blades in front.
Arrows behind.
One bolt struck his abdomen.
Another his shoulder.
The pain barely registered.
His armor had stopped one.
But his left arm wouldn’t move.
His gauntlet was gone. His boots torn.
His breath misted through the gaps in his ruined armor.
He was at his limit.
And still, he killed two more.
One lost an arm.
The man, eyes red with rage, glared at him.
“So this is why we overprepared.”
He spoke.
Enkrid had no time to answer.
“Kill him.”
A hundred and fifty longbowmen loosed their arrows.
Enkrid ran forward.
His swords raised.
Desperation.
“Die!”
The man he had maimed threw himself at him.
Enkrid split his skull.
The next instant, dozens of arrows pierced his body.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
One scraped his neck.
His knee hit the ground.
Then his head.
Crazy bastards.
Only then did Enkrid realize.
All this.
Everything.
Had been for him.
Insane.
For the first time, irritation flickered.
He had never died like this before.
His vision darkened.
His body shivered.
He had lost too much blood.
Cold.
Then, nothing.
Splash.
The sound of water.
A boat.
A ferryman.
A violet lantern.
“Did you have fun?”
The ferryman asked.