Chapter 177: I Don't Really Know Either
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 177: I Don't Really Know Either
"What was he like normally?"
To truly understand a person, it was best to gather perspectives from every possible angle. Krais did exactly that.
He started with Deutsch Fullman.
"He was a smooth talker. He knew exactly how to please people, and he was meticulous. He never started anything unless he was absolutely certain of the outcome."
A waste of talent—or so Deutsch had thought before the man turned out to be a cultist. Thanks to his easygoing nature, he had no enemies. He got along with everyone, and they all cited his meticulousness as his greatest strength.
"He was insidious. Both in his actions and his methods."
That was Luagarne’s take.
Insidious, and cautious enough never to move without absolute certainty.
They said that whether he was gambling, betting, or doing anything else, he wouldn't step forward unless the odds were entirely in his favor.
"Well, he was good at whatever he did, but, um... he tended to take a long time preparing. The captain seemed to really like that about him, though."
"His position in the battle formation? Was it the very back? Ah, yes, it was the very back. Every single time."
"Come to think of it, you're right."
Krais pieced together the opinions of the other vigilantes to paint a picture in his mind. In his head, the bastard was like a petty goat. He had also gained a rough grasp of the man's habits.
Personality-wise, is he similar to Sachsen?
Sachsen also got things done when he had to, but in terms of personality, he was the type to be thoroughly prepared and prone to overanalyzing.
They were similar. Of course, their current opponent was much stupider. Far more so.
Krais drew up a script—a scenario designed to draw out an insidious, cowardly bastard. To be precise, it was a trap laid with elements intended to make the enemy let his guard down.
"Should we spit up some blood? You can use this."
It was a small pouch made from a cut-up pig's bladder. It smelled foul because it was filled with goat blood, but since they didn't have to hold it in their mouths and only needed to spill it, it served its purpose.
"It would be better if you looked a bit injured. Since you're a Frok, a minor injury should be fine, right?"
"Sure."
Luagarne was bolder than expected. She showed up with her arm completely severed.
"This will certainly be more effective. But are you okay with losing an arm?"
"I'm right-handed."
Was that supposed to be an answer? Perhaps it was.
In any case, the opponent would see the severed arm, feel assured of his victory, and let his guard down. Even with this gruesome sight, the allies' morale didn't waver. This was thanks to Encrid.
That something he had shown them amidst the horde of monsters and demonic beasts that day... it had been truly, deeply impressive. Even Krais himself had let out a shout of admiration.
The plan was devised with all of that in mind.
With this much...
It would be best to funnel the opponent's thoughts in one direction. One could even call it conditioning him.
Since he doesn't seem particularly bright.
Humans are creatures of habit. Hiding in the back was a habit, a second nature. Could he discard that in an instant?
As if.
Pinpointing the enemy's location was incredibly easy for Krais. Afterward, he planted a preconception in the opponent's mind by keeping Esther by Encrid's side. He made the cultist believe that wherever the panther was, Encrid would be too.
Thus, at dawn, before the opponent could notice, he sent out Encrid and Luagarne.
"Finn, put this on."
After having Finn layer up in clothes, Krais placed her on top of the wall—in a spot that served as a gallery—and positioned Esther right next to her.
Just as the horde of monsters and demonic beasts rushed in, sensing victory, the bastard's hiding spot became glaringly obvious to Krais. It was a place where he could remain hidden while keeping an eye on his enemies. He was likely draped in a monster's hide somewhere in the back.
Reading the opponent's mind and using it to lay a trap was a simple, easy task. At least, it was for Krais.
*
"That Big-Eyes fellow is quite useful. There's more to him than just his looks," Luagarne said.
Encrid's chin bobbed slightly. He agreed.
After lying in ambush where Big-Eyes—Krais—had specified, they looked for someone draped in a hyena's hide, and they hit the jackpot.
Encrid wiped off the makeup made from charcoal mixed with water. He brushed away the stone dust that had been sprinkled over his face. As he shook his hand, the dusty gray powder scattered. It had been dry and thoroughly uncomfortable.
"You bastards, you tricked me!"
Ah, what a cliché reaction. Whenever this happened, there was something Encrid always wanted to say. His mouth practically itched.
"Only an idiot gets tricked."
The world had become so harsh and cunning that nowadays, barely anyone gave such a textbook reaction. It was a classic exchange he hadn't experienced in a very long time. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.
"Why you...!"
The cultist seethed, his eyes turning bloodshot. A few Gnolls nearby reacted to the cultist's shout, turning around to charge.
Grah!
The cultist's brainwashing and charm spells swayed the monsters' minds. The Gnolls knew no fear. If they had seen how their kin were being sliced apart by Encrid's sword earlier, they would have scattered and fled long ago, yet they charged without a shred of hesitation.
But there was no need for Encrid to step in.
Whoosh, bam! Bam! Crack!
Luagarne's whip lashed out. The iron weight at the tip struck the Gnolls' heads, bursting them open. One of them blocked with a thick wooden shield. With a loud bang, part of the shield shattered, but the whip was successfully stopped.
It was a Variant Gnoll. The creature bared its fangs from behind the shield. As three or four Variant Gnolls gathered around the cultist to shield him, Luagarne puffed out her cheeks.
"Do you think I'll let you escape twice?"
"You're a frog who doesn't value her own heart! You didn't realize I was unprepared back then, did you?"
He sure has a big mouth.
With that thought, Encrid's hand moved.
Whoosh.
A streak of light flew through the air. It wasn't a Whistling Dagger, so it was much slower than one, but it was a knife thrown with the power of the Heart of Monstrous Strength. In other words, it was incredibly fast.
The flying knife looked poised to pierce right between the cultist's eyes. Just before it could—
Thud!
A Variant Gnoll thrust out its left arm to block. The knife embedded itself deep into the creature's thick hide. Without a change in expression, the Variant Gnoll pulled the knife out of its arm with its other hand and tossed it aside.
Black blood gushed from the wound, but the creature merely glared at Encrid without even a furrow of its brow.
Its reaction speed...
It wasn't bad. No, it was excellent. The Gnoll's yellow eyes stared at Encrid, and Encrid stared right back.
*
The cultist was cowardly, but he was no fool. He knew that continuing to control the monsters like this was a waste of mana. There was an easier way. He would create a Colony Leader.
If the previous leader had been a rampaging beast wielding two poisoned daggers, this time it was the largest of the Variant Gnolls. Adding a spell to that...
A black haze seemed to rise over the shoulders of the newly appointed leader.
"It's a cultist trick," Luagarne said. It was a warning to be careful.
Encrid drew his sword. Just one, instead of two. Holding it with both hands, he raised it in front of him and faced his enemy. He kept both the black haze and the cultist behind it within his field of vision.
How will it be?
At some point, Encrid had started using Rem as the benchmark for his opponents' strength.
Is he on par with Rem? Or is he tougher? Which is better: facing Rem, or this?
The conclusion was simple.
Not even close.
Comparing them to Rem felt like an insult to that brute of a barbarian. Therefore...
"Watch my back," he said, and then he charged.
The cultist was confident. He believed in his summoning magic. He believed in it even as the leader Gnoll charged. No matter how skilled the opponent was, the new leader was a variable created to account for any unforeseen strength.
In other words, the man standing over there was also such a variable. An unexpected force. Thus, variable met variable.
Meanwhile, the Frok was rushing toward him. The cultist wanted to use a strategy that guaranteed victory. He had also judged that the man who had just drawn his sword was far more dangerous than the Frok with only one arm left.
Give up the flesh... to take the bone.
The cultist did exactly that.
A black, lump-like mass dripped from the tips of his right fingers. It was darker and denser than a shadow. Just looking at it filled one with a sense of foreboding.
"Warrior's Arm," the cultist muttered, and the mass instantly took shape.
It was a bizarre form. It had a human-like shape with thin legs and only one arm, but it lacked a head. Only its right arm was thick, and its hand held something resembling a blunt sword.
Meanwhile, Luagarne strode forward and lashed her whip. The whip flew with a loud whoosh, looking poised to crush the cultist's skull.
"Block it!" the cultist screamed, his eyes bloodshot.
Thud!
A Variant Gnoll blocked the whip with its body. Luagarne flicked her wrist without missing a beat. The whip bent pliantly, bypassing the dead Gnoll and aiming for the cultist's head once more.
The whip was like a living snake. As the cultist barely managed to twist his body away, the whip wrapped around his left arm, snapping the bone with a sickening crack.
Damn frog!
Instead of screaming, the cultist bit his tongue. With a squelch, dark blood trickled down the corner of his mouth.
With blood as the price...
As the cultist muttered internally, his left arm, caught in the whip, fell off and melted into a black liquid.
"Huarin's Dog!" the cultist cried.
The black liquid that had been his left arm transformed into a four-legged black beast, larger than an average dog. Having summoned multiple entities in rapid succession, the cultist felt as if his entrails were twisting. His stomach churned, and his vision spun. Furthermore, because he had sacrificed his left arm, blood was gushing out.
Fuck.
If he wasn't careful, he would die. Swallowing the blood pooling in his mouth, the cultist barely managed to keep his consciousness. Then, looking at the scene before him, he let out a snicker.
The Frok was busy fighting the dog he had summoned. On the other side, the Warrior's Arm had drawn close to the half-baked squire who was fighting the Gnolls with bizarre techniques.
I won.
The cultist was certain of his victory.
Luagarne wrapped the whip once around her wrist as she dealt with the summoned dog. The shorter her whip became, the more powerful it was. The opponent had been hiding his strength; the summon he controlled was far more troublesome than she had anticipated.
It was fast on its feet, and its fangs were sharp. Despite having no eyes, it was incredibly good at dodging. It wasn't an opponent she could finish off with a single strike. She had also seen the opponent summon two entities simultaneously. This meant he was of a different caliber even among cultist priests.
Just hold on.
That would be enough. The Frok drew the weapon she had prepared. When traveling alone, the hardest entities to deal with were spiritual monsters—ghosts and evil spirits. The summon controlled by the cultist before her was of a similar nature: a parlor trick that manifested a physical form in this world to control.
There were many ways to deal with it, but she preferred a simple method. For instance...
"Burn."
...by utilizing a simple magic tool.
Whoosh.
Soon, blue flames ignited along her whip. Naturally, it was a type of spell—something designed to inflict proper damage on summoned entities. She didn't know that the cultist had burned his own lifespan to summon these entities; she merely thought he had sent a distraction to Encrid and a troublesome summon to her.
Meanwhile, the Warrior's Arm sprinted on its spindly legs, closing in right in front of Encrid.
Encrid had just deflected a Gnoll's club coming down on his head by sweeping his two-handed sword, and was in the middle of slashing forward to carve a wound into the creature's abdomen.
Rip!
Despite being cut so deeply that its entrails were visible, the Gnoll swung its club again as if it had forgotten the pain. Encrid ducked, bending his knees and waist to dodge. The club whooshed past, barely grazing the top of his head.
Then, pulling his sword back in a fluid motion, he sliced the back of the opponent's knee. Crossing his left and right feet to step forward, he took the opponent's back and left two deep cuts on its calf muscles.
Slash, slash!
That was enough. Unable to stand properly with its calf muscles severed, the creature collapsed heavily onto its knees. Twisting his waist, he executed a Heavy Sword Style Wheel Slash.
Thud!
The Gnoll's severed head flew through the air. The creature died without even being able to let out a proper scream.
His movements hadn't connected perfectly smoothly at every moment. He had moved entirely in response to the situation as it unfolded, but he had still fought with Rem in mind. For Encrid, this was easier than facing a crowd. The battle was decided in an instant; the difference in skill was stark.
Just as he was slicing the Gnoll's calves, the black mass and sword sent by the cultist had approached. And by the time he severed the Gnoll's neck, the summon swung the shadowless black sword in its hand.
This was the cultist's final struggle and his fatal move. The Warrior's Arm was a summoning spell that vanished after delivering a single strike—a spell used only when one absolutely wanted to kill someone.
Spotting the entity rushing at him on its spindly legs, Encrid raised his sword. The black sword lunged from above. It was incredibly fast—a sudden burst of acceleration. There was no dodging it.
Having envisioned blocking this after killing the Gnoll, Encrid raised his sword. Block and parry.
It was exactly what the cultist had hoped for. For the Warrior's Arm would swing right through physical defenses, inflicting fatal damage directly upon a human's spiritual body. Even as blood poured from his mouth and arm, the cultist's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Die.
Soon, Encrid's sword met the sword swung by the Warrior's Arm.
*
Hmph.
Esther watched Encrid's fight from atop the wall.
The cultist's spell was a clumsy trick. However, such a clumsy trick could be fatal to someone who was completely unprepared. Knowing that, how could she just let that man go?
She had torn apart her worn-out leather armor and added it to her mana. This, then, was in exchange for that.
A gift, man.
Esther had split off a portion of her mana and embedded it in the man's sword so that if the opponent tried some spell-like trick, it would react to it.
*
Encrid saw a faint blue light glowing from his sword. In that split second...
The glowing blue sword shattered the black sword and sliced the black mass's body in two. If it had been human, it would have been a clean cut right below the chest. The sensation of the cut lingered in his hand.
Did it actually have some kind of flesh despite looking like that?
The severed black mass spewed black smoke before scattering and vanishing. Upon seeing this, the cultist's eyes widened so much they looked ready to tear.
"...What! What was that?!"
Encrid was honest. He was also genuinely puzzled. Though he didn't agonize over it, Encrid thought for a few seconds longer than usual before opening his mouth.
"I don't really know either."
At that answer, the cultist's blood boiled. He had parted his lips as if he were about to reveal some grand secret, only to spout such nonsense!
As the shock hit his mind, the cultist's vision began to spin. Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat. Having already pushed himself far past his limits, his heart simply failed.
Gasp.
Sometimes, death was a hollow thing. Clutching his chest, the cultist gasped weakly a few times before collapsing forward. Plunging headfirst into the ground, he certainly didn't look like he was going to get back up.
Instantly, the fog cleared from the minds of the monsters and demonic beasts rampaging nearby. They, too, possessed instincts. The moment they saw the human who had been slaughtering their kin, they scattered and fled in all directions.
The colony had been broken.
Meanwhile, Encrid was staring intently at his sword.
Was this a magic sword? Then is that blacksmith from the Border Guard a mage?
Probably not. It was a thoroughly mismatched combination.