Chapter 131: The Course of the Battlefield Was Changed by a Single Sparring Match
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 131: The Course of the Battlefield Was Changed by a Single Sparring Match
Rem was thrilled.
Ragna, stimulated by the match, burned with newfound motivation.
As for Audin, he felt as though he had finally received an answer during his sparring match with Encrid.
Prayers to the Lord were always questions, yet they were met only with silence. For the Lord used silence as a weapon. Finding the answer within that silence was a burden left to the faithful.
Yet, sometimes—just sometimes—Audin believed that God did provide an answer. Even if He did not speak in an audible voice, He expressed His will through other means.
In that day’s sparring match, Audin felt as though he had heard that answer through Encrid.
‘What can that man gain by striving so hard? Can his efforts ever bear fruit?’
A single human’s sheer determination was enough to bridge the gap to Audin's own long-held doubts.
‘Though You commanded us to protect the weak, why do You not protect them? Why do You not grant them the reward of their efforts?’
The strong and the weak, good and evil—these were age-old dilemmas.
Why did those he deemed ‘evil’ flourish while those he deemed ‘good’ suffered? He had seen the virtuous weak and the virtuous strong collapse alike. He had even seen evil thrive within the temple, the very cradle and sanctuary of God.
Why did God just stand by and watch? Why did He not chastise them? Why did those called Inquisitors only bind the powerless to carts of thorns? And why did God remain silent through that, too?
In the midst of this existential silence, there was a man who lived with a reckless determination, as if trying to drink a river dry. He stood upright, unchanging, like the sun rising every morning.
If God existed, He would have to give such a man an answer. He could not turn away from someone who lived by burning his very soul.
Was there actually divine intervention? Audin didn't know. He couldn't tell. But even if there wasn't, it no longer mattered. Through the days of knowing Encrid and living alongside him, Audin had learned a vital truth.
‘The question lies within me.’
And the answer was within him as well.
He felt he had obtained that answer through their sparring. To be perfectly honest, a sense of profound relief filled his chest—enough that he felt he could happily crush the skulls of a few enemy soldiers in this very mood.
With this, even Audin had been drawn into Encrid’s orbit. He had drawn in Rem, and he had drawn in Ragna as well.
No one knew it then, and no one would know it after, but the shift in the course of the battlefield at this very moment could be attributed to the fierce intensity radiating from Encrid. His sparring had shaken the hearts of the entire squad before sending them into the fray.
‘O Lord, today I send those who shall dwell by Your side.’
Taking a life could be a sin. Yet, it could also not be. All religions reflected the eras in which they existed, and Audin’s faith was no different. His god did not shrink from killing.
In other words, if it was necessary, he would do it. Without sparing an ounce of his strength, he would send those who would serve the Lord to His side.
Audin stepped forward with long strides. His allies recognized him, whispering among themselves before falling into a respectful silence.
“Those who have received a coin from the Goddess of Fortune would do well to retreat.”
Audin showed benevolence and mercy.
Because of the thick fog, they could barely see what was right in front of them. One of the enemy soldiers looked at Audin’s massive frame and sneered.
“Are you trying to mimic that giant on our side?”
In a way, it might have looked that way. Audin offered a faint, serene smile. He was neither displeased nor offended. Why get angry when all he had to do was send his opponent to the Lord’s side and give them a chance to beg for forgiveness? At this moment, there was no reason for a mere human’s displeasure to interfere with his holy work.
“I do not go out of my way to pretend to be another being, brother.”
“Fuck, what do you mean ‘brother’?”
Confronting the enemy with only three or four paces between them, Audin slowly began to count.
“Five.”
No one understood the meaning of the number.
“What are you blabbering about! Die!”
The battle had truly begun with the appearance of the enemy giant, and that heat had finally reached the common soldiers. The Azpen soldier who had spoken back thrust his spear.
Tap.
Audin deflected the spearhead with the back of his hand, gently guiding it outward. Along the smooth motion of his hand, the spear lost all its momentum. The enemy soldier stumbled forward awkwardly, struggling to catch his balance.
“Four.”
Audin counted the next number.
“This son of a bitch...?”
The gesture his opponent had made was no ordinary feat. The soldier gestured to his men; he was a squad leader. Soon, his squad surrounded Audin. The spear was the finest weapon an infantryman could possess, and now, ten spearheads were aimed at Audin, surrounding him in layers.
“Three.”
Audin looked at them and continued his count.
“You’re completely out of your mind.”
Even as he spoke, the squad leader felt a cold sweat break out. A chill ran down his spine, and his stomach churned. What was that just now? How could someone just tap away a spearhead with their bare hand? Was he wearing armor? He wore thin, white gloves, but they didn't look like combat gauntlets. And his hands... they were unnaturally large.
“Two.”
While the soldier hesitated, the count dropped again. The squad leader spat on the ground to steady his nerves.
“Ptooey. Kill him.”
The order was given.
“One.”
The final number left Audin’s mouth.
This was, in essence, his final consideration—a mercy and benevolence offered to anyone who had picked up a coin from the Goddess of Fortune to back away.
‘Just for today.’
Since he had decided to accept the call of the God of War, there was no need to hold back. He didn't need to become a full Apostle, but Audin hoped that an opponent similar to the enemy giant would emerge. Since he was invoking the name of the God of War anyway, it was only natural for his fighting spirit to demand a proper challenge.
“Well then.”
A nonchalant word amidst the incoming spearheads.
Simultaneously with the word ‘one’ falling from his lips, Audin drew his weapon. It wasn't his favorite—he had left that behind when he departed the temple. This was merely a substitute: a heavy club of oil-soaked wood. It had no metal studs or iron bands, but it was more than enough.
Whoosh.
To the enemy soldiers thrusting their spears, it looked as though Audin had vanished. In reality, he had simply bent his waist backward with impossible fluidity, almost lying flat to evade the strikes. Three men had thrust simultaneously, all aiming for his chest.
Displaying a flexibility that defied his massive build, Audin pushed off the ground and surged upward. At the same time, he lightly swung his club.
Crack-clack!
With a single semi-circular swing, three spear shafts were violently swept aside.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”
While the three spearmen lost their balance and stumbled, their stances collapsing, Audin took another giant stride forward. His club came down upon an enemy soldier’s head.
Thwack!
One skull per strike.
Whoosh, thwack! Whoosh, thwack!
One by one, with a single blow each, three heads burst. It happened in an instant. Regardless of his size, Audin moved with the swiftness of a predator.
“...Huh?”
What followed was a rhythmic slaughter. Whether a spear flew at him or a throwing knife was flung, he casually dodged or caught them and hurled them back. Then, he would step in and strike.
Thwack! Their heads burst like squashed pumpkins. No, their skulls seemed even softer than pumpkins under his strength.
A Naurilian soldier watching from behind shook his head in amazement. “He’s a monster.”
Dodge and strike. Everyone knows that’s how you win, but no one else could actually execute it with such terrifying simplicity.
Thwack. Another head burst.
At first, he used only his club. Later, when the enemy began raining arrows and rushing him in waves, he started using his feet as well. From then on, it was like watching a heavy cavalry charge. Everyone he approached was sent flying.
“Hahaha!”
Meanwhile, their side’s monster burst into hearty laughter.
“May the blessing of the God of War be with you!” he bellowed.
He seemed completely, utterly insane. Of course, to the Naurilian soldiers, it was the most beautiful sight in the world. As long as that madman was on their side, they were safe.
“All forces, chaaaarge!”
The command was quick to grasp the situation. Following the shifted tide, the entire army rushed forward. Audin continued to run amok in the heart of the enemy formation.
“You bastard, where do you think you’re going!”
A few skilled fighters from the Grey Dogs rushed him. However...
“Welcome, brother!”
Audin feinted with a thrust of his club, pulled it back, then twisted his waist on his left foot and extended his leg. It was a kick delivered with the full, crushing force of his log-like thigh.
Crack! Crunch!
A light mid-level kick folded his opponent’s body in half. How could a mere kick possess such power? It was as if he were wearing iron greaves. With that single blow, the human body snapped. The man died instantly of ruptured internal organs, the capillaries in his face bursting until his eyes turned blood-red.
The struck opponent flew backward, knocking down four more enemy soldiers like bowling pins.
“What the fuck is this?”
To the enemy, it was utterly absurd. Audin fought like an antlion’s pit—a void that devoured everything that dared draw near.
*
The Elf Company Commander stared straight at her approaching opponent. Her opponent was also an elf.
Meeting and fighting one’s own kind in a place like this was nothing extraordinary. Times had changed. Very few elves still lived huddled in the forests; a closed society was bound to fall behind, and once left behind, it would be forgotten. Gods and elves alike would eventually surrender their homes to invaders.
The choices of their ancestors had changed the lives of future generations. Among them were those who exchanged their naidel for krona—joining the military for mercenary wages.
Thus, the Elf Company Commander, Sinar, saw little difference between her opponent and herself, regardless of whether their goal was coin or something else. In any case, the fact that they had to kill each other remained the only constant.
“A needle?”
The leaf sword was a naidel. The needle sword, a sharp-tipped blade dedicated to the thrust, was a needle. These were the exclusive weapons of the elves. Two weapons facing each other, each held with a different purpose.
“So there was one of my kind here.”
The elf of Azpen was a man with sharp, predatory eyes. His hair was cropped short, and his mouth was set in a stubborn line. Most elves tended to be stubborn; Sinar was the first to admit that.
The tip of her opponent’s sword was stained red, blood dripping onto the damp earth. Before they knew it, the surrounding troops had backed away, forming a circle around the two duelists. One was a company commander; the other was a hidden blade prepared by the enemy army.
“If you run, I won't chase you down,” the man said.
Looking at his blood-stained needle, Sinar drew her own sword.
Ching.
It was a naidel. A leaf sword. “I was about to say the same to you.”
They clashed.
The duel did not last long. Sinar was several levels above the elf wielding the needle. In talent, skill, and veteran experience, the male elf could not hope to surpass her. After a few exchanges, the blade of her leaf sword grazed his neck.
Slash!
Through the sensation lingering in her hand, Sinar was certain of his death. Clutching his throat, the elf collapsed.
Watching this, Sinar felt a wave of disgust.
‘Those bastards.’
This had been bait. The real threat was coming now. While she was fighting this man, she had felt at least three sources of killing intent targeting her. It was a classic tactic: draw attention with a duelist and strike from the shadows. This was how they had been assassinating commanders.
The only variable was that the man’s allies hadn't arrived before he died. He had died with his eyes wide open in shock, abandoned by his own backup.
‘How wretched.’
Of course, wretchedness was an advantage on the battlefield—if it worked. Unfortunately for the enemy, they lost the opportunity to be wretched. The killing intent she had felt was suddenly erased.
There were only two possibilities: either the enemy had fled in fear, or an external force had intervened.
The answer was the latter.
She saw a man wiping his sword on a corpse’s clothes. He had brown eyes with a hint of swirling red, and reddish-brown hair to match. Not a single drop of blood had splattered onto him. In fact, Sinar had never once seen that fellow covered in blood. He was always immaculate.
Well, except for when he hung around prostitutes. She had seen him then, looking like he had just finished a long night of business.
“What brings you here?”
“I had nothing to do,” Sachsen replied.
Sachsen was no different from the others. Watching Encrid, he couldn't help but feel deeply pleased by the boy's growth. If he stayed near him, he felt he wouldn't be able to resist talking about it, and his tongue itched to speak. His hands itched for action, too.
He wanted to unleash this energy somewhere. Conveniently, some bastards carrying a similar scent had stepped forward. Emerging through the fog, Sachsen had followed right behind the Elf Company Commander and slit the throats of three assassins.
It wasn't a difficult task. Although the opponents were elves and highly skilled by ordinary standards, to Sachsen, they were mediocre. They relied on innate talent rather than proper, rigorous training—the easiest type of opponent for him to handle.
“And you just left your squad leader behind?” Sinar asked.
Sachsen tilted his head. “If he were the type to die in a place like this, he would have died a long time ago.”
It was high praise—a testament to his absolute trust in Encrid. The boy was at a level where he no longer needed a shadow.
‘Next time...’ Sachsen thought. He would have to teach him something other than footwork. Once the senses were honed, what was the next step? If he had truly opened the Gate of the Sixth Sense...
‘Observe well and react.’
These were things that still required time and effort to master. Had he ever properly taught him such things? He didn't think he had.
“Phew.” Sachsen let out a sigh, wondering why he was being so serious in the middle of a war. Honestly, he probably didn't even need to teach him; the boy would figure it out on his own.
The Elf Company Commander saw his expression and spoke. “This battalion commander is no fool. He knows how to read the flow.”
She thought he was sighing because the troops weren't moving fast enough. That wasn't it—Sachsen was just someone who hid his true thoughts exceptionally well. But Sinar’s words were true. The tide was turning.
Her words were caught not just by Sachsen, but by the ears of the surrounding soldiers. It was a declaration that the momentum had shifted, and that victory was within their grasp.
“All forces, assume formation!”
At her command, her guards took their positions. No sooner had she finished speaking than horn trumpets blared from all directions. Messengers began to sprint through the lines.
Just as she had said, Marcus knew how to ride the flow.