Chapter 181: Some Crazy Bastard is Chasing Me with a Sword (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 181: Some Crazy Bastard is Chasing Me with a Sword (1)
Encrid whipped his head around. It was a reflexive action, his body moving purely on his instincts for evasion.
In an instant, he took in and assessed his surroundings.
‘Krais, a staff, chests, a sword?’
In Encrid's eyes, something murky was unfurling from the sword thrust into the altar. The gray entity spread through the surroundings, enveloping the cavern.
Esther’s body kicked off the ground with a sharp thud. She bolted toward the exit, heading back the way they had come.
Just in the nick of time, a gray barrier blocked her path.
Thump!
The panther's body bounced off the barrier, and Encrid reached out to catch her. His movement was as swift as the wind.
Encrid gently cradled the panther in his arms, scanning the area as he rested a hand on his sword’s grip. The atmosphere was so tense that it wouldn't have been surprising if something jumped out at any second.
“Finn.”
At his call, Finn took her position behind Encrid.
Luagarne looked after Krais. Pulling back Krais, who had been standing there blankly holding his staff, she also raised her guard.
Before Encrid even had time to check on Esther, his danger-sensing instinct flared. It was an ability unique to Encrid, honed by dying countless times. And yet...
‘Hm?’
There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“……What on earth is this?” Krais muttered.
Encrid turned his gaze toward him.
“Hiss.”
Apparently unharmed by the collision with the barrier, Esther let out a low growl. Setting the panther down, Encrid approached Krais.
It appeared Krais had used his staff to pry open one of the chests. Inside, instead of poison arrows, there was only dust and a small letter.
Unfolding it, Krais muttered to himself, “Has it already been looted? Or was that bastard Dolph just insane?”
“Let me see.”
Encrid stepped closer and examined the letter.
- Only the one who claims the treasure may leave.
Did you use back-cracking to get in? Sorry, but this is the only trap here.
Whoosh.
Along with the crackling of the torches, Encrid let out a low grunt. He could almost hear the letter's author snickering. This Dolph fellow had a truly twisted sense of humor.
But treasure? The chest was empty. What about the other one?
Krais used his staff to open the remaining chest.
“Nothing.”
That one was empty too.
“I guess they called Bypassing 'back-cracking' in this era. Dammit. What treasure?”
Krais clutched his head. A single ancient rich man had driven a clever modern-day soldier to utter despair. But it couldn't be helped. It was a trap woven with spells, a method no one could have easily anticipated.
“Anyone would have fallen for this,” Finn agreed.
Encrid turned his head away from Big-Eyes. He saw the sword standing quietly on the dais. The sword, which had been covered in moss and dust until moments ago, had changed.
A faint, dark blue light shimmered along the blade. Though the hilt was so worn it was practically rusted over, and the blade itself was blunt...
‘The color of the blade changed.’
Could it have been maintained in a place like this? Who would maintain it? Did they plant a skeleton soldier here just to oil the blade?
At a glance, the edge wasn't sharp; it was clearly old. However, for a blade to remain intact after all this time... this was no ordinary feat.
A sword was bound to fall into ruin if left unmaintained. That was generally the case for any weapon made of iron. It was only natural for a sword salvaged from an ancient dungeon to shatter with a single swing. Its core would have decayed under the weight of time.
To a mercenary, a weapon was life itself. The less confident one was in their skills, the more they relied on their weapon, which was why Encrid had paid close attention to his arms over the years. Consequently, he had a discerning eye for swords.
The edge was dull, and the hilt was so ancient it looked ready to crumble at a touch.
‘But its core is alive.’
It was a perfectly sound weapon. Of course, it would need some care. The only thing here worthy of being called a treasure was that sword.
“How long has it been since this Dolph guy built this place?” Encrid asked.
“At least fifty years,” Krais replied with a dazed expression. Since only the sword remained, everyone's eyes naturally gravitated toward it.
A sword thrust into an altar for fifty years, yet in such good condition? If that wasn't the treasure, what else could it be? It was the only thing left.
“I'll try pulling it out.”
Krais's despair was short-lived. He quickly scrambled to his feet, muttered “Dolph, you son of a bitch” under his breath, and stepped forward. He was quite the character. Despite having a natural talent for hiding and running away, he couldn't bring himself to ignore the mess he had made.
Before anyone could say a word, Krais grabbed the sword's hilt and immediately let go.
“Whoa!”
He looked startled. As everyone stared at him blankly, Krais stammered, “No, seriously, some crazy bastard is chasing me with a sword!”
He had only touched the sword, yet he claimed some lunatic was chasing him with a blade?
“Let me try,” Finn stepped forward. Valor, and sometimes recklessness—those were other words for a ranger. Those who were brave yet occasionally foolhardy, the rangers who walked the path ahead, were exactly like that.
Before anyone could stop her, Finn grabbed the sword and immediately released it.
“He's not lying.”
Encrid's gaze lingered on the sword's hilt.
“Is it a magic sword?” Luagarne muttered, glaring at the blade. Shaking her hands out in the air, she puffed out her cheeks. “A mere magic sword.”
She stepped forward. The moment she placed her hand on the hilt...
Slip, slide.
“……Hm,” Encrid let out a low grunt. Luagarne tried again.
Slip.
Her hand failed to grip the hilt and slid right off.
“Ah, I saw him for a second.”
The skin of the Frok had a characteristic slickness. That was why they used rings to handle weapons. For her to grasp, the magic sword was too smooth and slippery—especially since it didn't even have a proper pommel at the end of the grip.
“But that's the only treasure here.”
Krais parted his lips, casting a sidelong glance at the sword. It seemed they had no choice but to draw it.
“Is the message left by that Dolph guy trustworthy?” Encrid asked. If they drew the sword thinking it was a treasure, only for it to be a trap designed to kill them all, they would be helpless.
“Yes, well, shouldn't we trust it? He might have been a bastard, but they say Dolph lived his whole life by his word and never told a lie. It's a fairly reliable rumor.”
If a man like that did lie, it would be fatal, but for now, they had no choice but to believe it. With that thought, Encrid shook his head inwardly and stood before the sword.
Slip, slip.
Even then, Luagarne was still trying to grasp the sword a few more times.
“I can see him. It's a guy holding a sword.” She seemed to be concentrating, her eyes half-closed.
“A magic sword...”
Krais twitched his fingers and clicked his tongue. They had to draw the sword, but the moment they touched it, some lunatic would chase them with a blade. It had only been a brief moment, but he never wanted to encounter that thing again. He didn't even want to look at it. Cold sweat trickled down his back.
Giving up her attempts to grasp the sword, Luagarne shook her hands and spoke. “A magic sword—more precisely, a sword possessed by an evil spirit.”
An evil spirit?
Encrid had wandered the continent for quite some time, but he had only encountered an evil spirit once. It was a wraith, an evil spirit that fed on human anxiety and fear. It was a place he had gone to on a commission, only to find it was beyond his touch—a village where everyone had already died and turned into evil spirits.
It had been utterly horrific. It was not something a ragtag band of mercenaries armed with mere iron could handle. They had to call a priest. And not just any priest, but one who could manifest divine power.
‘How much did it cost back then?’
Encrid had paid out of his own pocket. His mindset was simple: since he took the job, he had to finish it. The funny thing was, the client itself had been a ghost—a remnant of a human soul that hadn't turned into an evil spirit. It had wept continuously, pleading through its tears. So desperate was the little girl's wish that she had disguised herself as a vagrant of the territory to make the request.
And Encrid, true to his word, had purged the evil spirits from that village.
‘I think it cost me my entire fortune, though.’
Hiring a priest—especially one capable of using divine power to exorcise an evil spirit—always cost a fortune in krona. In other words, an evil spirit was an entity an ordinary mercenary could never hope to touch.
While Encrid was lost in reminiscence, Krais muttered, “Ah, then if I had kept holding onto that...”
Luagarne answered immediately. “It would have split your skull open.”
It was a chilling response. While Krais rubbed his arms in a sudden shiver, Encrid casually raised his hand. Draw the sword and claim it. Then leave. It was a simple proposition. More than anything, he was curious.
Encrid gripped the hilt of the sword.
Even without blinking, he knew his surroundings had changed. The very density of the air was different. He was standing on squelching mud—the kind of mud that dragged at one's feet.
And then, something plunged down from above. A sword. A blade falling vertically.
His body reacted. Reflexively, he drew his sword and swung, meeting the vertical blade with a horizontal strike.
Clang!
The moment they clashed, he shoved his opponent back with sheer force. With a heavy resonance, the sword floating in the mist recoiled. He used the recoil from that forceful push to leap backward. The muddy ground made footwork difficult.
As he retreated, kicking up wet splatters of mud...
Whoosh.
A gust of wind blew, and a mist-like substance swirled behind the floating sword before vanishing. Beyond the dissipating mist, his opponent was revealed.
A helmet and plate armor. Inside the helmet, blue flames flickered in place of eyes.
‘What is this?’
There was no speech, no breath. He couldn't sense any telegraphing of the sword swings. The opponent lacked the tells that any human would naturally possess.
The sword simply began to move.
Clang, clang.
As they exchanged several blows, Encrid realized his body was not in its usual state.
‘The Heart of Monstrous Strength isn't working.’
He had been stripped of his abilities. Though his reaction speed was roughly the same, his body felt stiff. Above all, his opponent's swordsmanship was remarkably formal, a style that anticipated several moves ahead. Whenever Encrid swung with instinct and reflexive senses, the opponent deflected his blade as if expecting it, immediately transitioning to the next attack.
This time, it was a thrust.
Inhale.
He drew in a breath and retreated. He had to pull back. He could just shift his consciousness back to the outside world. Instinctively, he knew the way out of this place. The problem was that his opponent was too close.
‘I'll get cut down before I can escape.’
It was an undeniable fact. Regardless of physical capability, the opponent seemed to read Encrid's every move.
And this was the result.
Thud.
An iron-clad gauntlet slammed into his abdomen. Encrid didn't just take the beating. With a heavy whoosh, he swung his sword with all his might, striking near the enemy's shoulder. He had aimed for the neck, but it was blocked by the pauldron.
‘He read me.’
He barely dodged the subsequent slash, but a follow-up elbow caught him square in the cheekbone.
Crack.
When you've experienced your own neck snapping multiple times, you learn to recognize the feeling. This was a fatal blow.
“Gah...”
Encrid let out a death rattle. That was the end. He thought he had died, but when he opened his eyes, he was back to normal. He had escaped from whatever it was—be it a mindscape or the evil spirit's playground.
“Captain?”
He saw Krais's wide eyes staring at him. Beside him were Finn, Luagarne, and even Esther.
“Are you alright?”
“How much... time has passed?”
His throat felt strangely dry. Encrid massaged his neck as he spoke. The pain was still vivid and clear. His neck felt cold, but it hadn't actually been twisted in a direction it shouldn't go. Only the sensation of pain and the moment of death remained.
“It felt like less than a minute.”
Encrid furrowed his brow. This was a rare occurrence. He had died, yet he wasn't dead? In a way, the battle inside felt like fighting barehanded—a feeling of stripping away everything you owned and communicating solely through the sword. For Encrid, it was no different from fighting with his limbs cut off.
“Are you really okay?”
“Yeah.”
Nodding at Krais's question, Encrid stared intently at the sword. It hadn't budged. It remained exactly as it was, like a haughty noblewoman. Though, of course, there was only a hunk of iron inside.
“Did you get beaten?” Luagarne asked from beside him.
“My neck got snapped.”
“In there?”
He nodded. At his words, Luagarne fell into thought. They couldn't do anything to the evil spirit with physical force, but the evil spirit couldn't truly harm Encrid either. It had been the same during that past commission.
Was it the same case now? It didn't seem like it. It had felt too real. Even knowing it was an illusion, it was no different from actually dying. As someone who was practically an expert on death from having died countless times, Encrid knew the difference.
Meanwhile, Luagarne examined the gray veil. She was feeling and tapping the veil with her fingertips. On the other side, Esther was gently scratching at the veil with her claws.
“Does that panther actually know what she's doing?” Finn muttered, looking dumbfounded by the sight.
‘Probably?’
Encrid knew that the Lake Panther by his side was far from ordinary. In any case, everyone was busy trying to assess the situation.
The answer came from Luagarne. After tapping the veil, observing the sword, and attempting to grasp it several times only to lose her grip, she finally spoke.
“This is half-conjecture, but...”
“What is it?” Encrid asked.
She spoke in a solemn tone—though he couldn't be sure, as reading a Frok's emotional state was always difficult. The words of the Frok, who stood with her arms crossed, sounded plausible.
“You'll have to die dozens of times. Only then will you be able to see anything resembling a treasure.”
To Encrid, that was an incredibly easy task, though Luagarne had no way of knowing that.