Chapter 241: Teresa is Dead
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 241: Teresa is Dead
"What the hell? Is that even possible?"
Swallow Blade muttered, his eyes wide with sheer disbelief.
Encrid didn't answer, quietly reflecting on his own actions, but another voice drifted from behind him instead.
"It happened right in front of your eyes. You still don't believe it?"
When had he returned? Standing behind them was Rem. He had likely seen the half-giant stop in her tracks.
The soldiers' shoulders heaved, their breath coming in ragged gasps as if they had just finished a full sprint. Everyone, including Marcus, had come to a halt. Even while struggling for air, several archers kept their arrows nocked, their bows drawn tight. They looked ready to fire at the slightest provocation.
Those aiming at the giant weren't master archers, but they would have no trouble hitting such a massive target. Meanwhile, a few of the more skilled marksmen turned their bows toward Encrid’s position.
"Steady now. Don't go putting a hole in the back of the captain's head by mistake," Rem warned them.
"Leave that warrior alone, too," Encrid added.
The archers aiming at the half-giant slowly eased the tension on their bowstrings. They couldn't fire anyway, as the hostage was right next to her—a hostage Encrid had personally stepped in to save.
"So, you can actually cut through that?" Krais muttered.
He expected Encrid to shrug it off, but the captain remained tense. The enemy was still standing right in front of him.
"Haha, what kind of nonsense is this? Seriously."
Swallow Blade let out a hollow, jagged laugh. Until now, he had taken countless lives by lurking in the shadows and unleashing his flexible sword. Even in the direst straits, he had hoarded his scrolls; to him, they were like extra lives.
He had seen people dodge spell-bound fireballs before. There were monsters out there capable of such feats. Dodging made sense—a normal swordsman would naturally scramble to get out of the way.
He had expected Encrid to dodge.
That dodge would have startled the man, and the moment an opening appeared, Swallow Blade would have lunged, tearing into him with his fastest strike. It was his sure-kill tactic, his ultimate trump card.
But why did he cut it? How was it even possible? A fireball manifested from a spell could be sliced?
He cut it? Sliced it? Is that even something a blade can touch?
Swallow Blade was dazed. It was only for a moment, but the sheer absurdity of the sight had momentarily shattered his composure.
"That was decent."
When had he approached? The blonde man with the perpetually lazy expression spoke as he stepped up to stand beside Encrid.
"Ah, you're here?" Encrid asked casually.
"I am," Ragna replied.
They weren't the type to just stand by and watch. Encrid silently looked ahead, his gaze asking a silent question: What now?
"Fine, I lose," Swallow Blade admitted, reaching into his coat once more.
Watching this, Ragna murmured—a rare occurrence for him. "He said, 'Just you wait'..."
"Yeah. See you around."
What Swallow Blade pulled from his coat was another scroll.
Another fireball?
Just as Encrid reacted and the archers hesitated, unsure whether to shoot—
Bang!
Ragna kicked off the ground.
He closed the distance as if flying, moving so fast his figure became a blur. As he charged, Swallow Blade hurriedly tore the scroll.
Riiip!
Beyond the shredded parchment, just as Encrid had done, Ragna slashed diagonally through the air.
Sliiiice!
A strange, high-pitched ring lingered in the air.
Thud.
A dull, heavy sound followed.
"He said, 'Just you wait,'" Ragna repeated over the noise.
The source of the thud lay on the ground. Seeing what had fallen, Encrid nodded silently. One did not ignore Ragna when he repeated a threat. When that lazybones actually followed through, he became truly terrifying.
The scroll appeared to have been a teleportation spell. However, only the lower half of Swallow Blade's body remained on the ground, gushing blood and organs. His upper half had been swept away in a flash of light and vanished.
*
"Aaaargh!"
Spatial escape scrolls had a success rate of barely over fifty percent. The slightest error would drop the user in some godforsaken location, but this time, the magic had technically succeeded.
Except, right before it activated, a blade had sliced straight through the center of the manifesting spell.
Crazy bastard!
Swallow Blade's eyes rolled back from the excruciating agony. He couldn't tell if the pain was from the magical backlash or the aftermath of the slash itself. The magical discharge blinded him.
Once the flash cleared and the horrific reality set in, he looked down. There was nothing below his waist.
"Ugh..."
No one could survive losing half their body. Blood and entrails spilled onto the parched earth. There was no hope; even a high priest wouldn't be able to restore this.
Crawling through the dirt, Swallow Blade died in the middle of a desolate wasteland. He choked on bloody froth, his life fading as his body failed him. Soon, a few vultures began to circle the corpse, followed by a growing flock of crows.
*
"What do we do about her?"
Vengeance asked, gesturing toward the massive half-giant.
"I have no intention of fighting further. Kill me."
The giant's voice rumbled as before—husky, rough, yet strangely pleasant to the ear. Encrid let out a long breath and approached her.
"Even if you had your reasons, that was a pretty despicable thing to do, wasn't it?"
At his blunt words, the half-giant knelt on the ground and looked up at him.
"The one who sent me is a bishop of the Demon Realm Holy Land Cult."
With those words, her identity was laid bare. She was an enemy that had to be eliminated. However, Encrid did not immediately swing his sword.
Marcus watched Encrid, his mind racing. Why? Does he want to lock her up and torture her? It would be simpler to just kill her.
"Those who betray the Cult die. Every single one of them has met that end. So, I will die here," the half-giant continued.
Encrid stared at her in silence.
A cultist.
It didn't seem like she had joined them by choice. Above all, her final action lingered in his mind. She had turned away, refusing to go through with the kill, and the moment the scroll unleashed the fireball, she had shielded the hostage with her own body. If she hadn't intervened, the hostage would be dead.
Even now, her singed hair and blistered forearms were visible. Burns. Were cultists the kind of people who risked their lives to save others?
"Do you... do you really have to kill her?"
Juri, the young woman who had been paralyzed with terror, finally found her voice. Those were her first words since the ordeal began.
"I must die," the half-giant answered firmly.
Marcus left the decision to Encrid. In truth, his own role in this affair was minor.
"The Cult will hunt you. Be careful in everything you do," the giant warned.
Encrid didn't reply to the warning.
"What? Want me to do it?"
Rem, unable to watch the hesitation any longer, decided to chime in. Resting his axe on his shoulder, he looked every bit the executioner.
"If you don't die, will you be hunted by the cultists?" Encrid asked, interpreting her words.
"Undoubtedly. To them, there is nothing more dangerous than an apostate," she replied.
The path of the Cult was grueling and absolute; they never let anyone leave. Or if they did, it was a rare, bloody exception. Yet, why did this woman look so desperate to throw her life away?
"Do you wish to repent, sister?" Audin, who had been watching quietly, asked.
"My name is Teresa."
It was a grand name. The name Teresa carried a sacred weight.
"I have no surname. I was born and raised within the Cult, and I merely fulfilled the duties I was given."
She didn't seem to possess any true faith. She was simply filled with anguish. Her words and expression conveyed nothing but conflict and regret.
"Through death, I shall finally find peace," she murmured. She wasn't reciting any holy scripture; she was speaking from the soul.
Encrid raised his sword.
"If you were to be reborn, what would you want to do?"
The blade reflected the harsh light. It was a sharp, sturdy weapon, capable of severing a giant's neck. A half-giant would be no challenge.
The giant answered, "I would fight and keep fighting, proving my existence through my life."
She smiled as she spoke. It was a pleasant, refreshing smile.
Encrid found himself quite liking her. And then, he swung his sword.
Whoosh.
The strike was so fast it didn't even leave an afterimage. With that single swing, the cultist Teresa died.
*
"Uh, is this really okay? It's a pretty transparent trick."
"Indeed."
Encrid nodded at Krais's words. It was a sign that things would probably be fine. In truth, even Encrid didn't know for sure. This was an impulsive choice, not a calculated move—much like when he had saved Dunchabel.
"No, but really, will it be okay?"
"Who knows."
"Aren't you being a bit too carefree?"
"Am I?"
"Yes."
Rem chimed into the conversation inside the quarters. Squeezing in between Encrid and Krais, he slung his massive arms over both their shoulders.
"Why? Is someone picking a fight? Giving you attitude? Just say the word. This great one here will, you know, give 'em a quick stab."
A quick stab. That wouldn't be necessary, Krais thought. Who would dare complain?
There was a place where only the men who vied for the title of the strongest in this unit gathered. Within the barracks, they were referred to with a mix of respect and awe as the Mad Company.
And a new member had just been added to their ranks. A masked woman.
"I want to keep using my name."
It was Teresa. The former cultist. Now, well... how should one put it?
"I've wandered the continent my whole life and have finally settled down. I look forward to working with you."
She claimed she was reborn. She said she had forgotten her past through death. Krais thought it was even stranger that she was complying so easily. What on earth is this woman thinking?
"Ah, whatever."
Krais stopped voicing his worries. What was the point? The captain was going to do whatever he wanted anyway. After all, it was the captain who had swung his sword through the air to "kill" her—specifically, slicing off her singed hair—and then convinced the woman who insisted she had to die.
"If that's what you want, die on the battlefield."
He hadn't even said much. Yet the half-giant had readily agreed.
"Are you saying you'll take responsibility for me?"
"Take responsibility for yourself."
"You'll make enemies of the Cult. They will come for you endlessly."
"...Did you think you came here to have a friendly meal?"
Teresa had also come to kill him. The Cult was already an enemy. They had already marked Encrid as a target. Thus, he had spoken with a face completely devoid of worry. Had that expression moved Teresa's heart? There was no way to know.
"You will regret this."
"No, I won't."
At the end of that trivial exchange, she had simply accepted her "death."
"As of today, the cultist Teresa is dead."
That was all. Battalion Commander Marcus hadn't said much either. He didn't ask if it was right to bring her along, nor did he ask if they should worry about the Cult. He just let it be.
Seriously, not my problem. Anyway, the captain really has a strange charm... Krais thought idly.
*
"Let's go."
Today was another training day. Encrid led his men out. He recalled the rapier swordsman who had infiltrated them before. Was it because the unit's discipline had grown lax? When hostages were taken, one of his own soldiers had ended up as one of them.
"I, Bell, have resolved never to show such pathetic weakness again!"
Having been captured once, the soldier was now bursting with motivation. Encrid spoke to all the soldiers gathered on the training ground.
"I will make sure every single one of you is reborn."
Until now, he had claimed he was only giving them "tolerable" training, but even that had been hell. And now, he was talking about making them reborn.
"Rem."
"Right here."
"Ragna."
"Yes."
"Audin."
"Yes, brother."
With the three instructors—and one more.
"Dunchabel."
"Yeah."
"Beat up anyone who challenges you."
Dunchabel, the assistant instructor specializing in violence.
"Wandering Teresa."
"Yes."
At the half-giant's meekly spoken reply, some of the soldiers flinched. It was a response that carried immense, undeniable power.
"I won't say anything even if you beat them half to death."
What was this? Was it a death sentence? Bell felt his motivation slowly draining away. He seriously wanted to run away.
Should I discharge? he muttered to himself.
Of course, Bell wasn't the only one thinking this. A collective urge to flee welled up in everyone. If they had simply run before, they now had to run carrying rucksacks twice as heavy. From morning till night, there was no such thing as a break. And then there were the sparring sessions in between.
"I've chosen you for today! You look like you'll take a hit well!"
Rem grabbed whoever was closest and beat them to a pulp. The others were no different.
"Your legs have given out. Let me help you up, brother."
Normally, helping someone up meant grabbing their arm and pulling, didn't it? Why was Audin helping them up by striking them?
Most of the soldiers practically begged to be put on guard duty, since those hours were their only respite. Deserting while on duty was out of the question. No, even slacking off was impossible. Hadn't someone infiltrated the barracks before? Hadn't they said it would never be tolerated again?
And a hostage? A hostage? A soldier getting taken hostage? Because of that, Bell was chewed out by everyone for a long time.
"Is this all because of that bastard Bell?"
Such rumors circulated among the soldiers for a while. Though Bell himself was too busy surviving on the brink of death to have any ears for gossip.
*
Training, and the occasional drifters who dropped by—this was Encrid's daily life. The training remained the same, however, there was also something new that had wedged itself into his routine.
"One more time!"
Edin Molsen. The count's prodigal son, who should have gone home, had stayed behind instead. Behind him, his sibling and his guard remained as well.
"Aren't you going back to your territory?" Encrid asked after beating him down for the umpteenth time.
"None of your business."
Edin Molsen seemed to have no intention of leaving. Did he have some sort of purpose? Encrid didn't care.
Winter was approaching. It was the harshest season in the north of the Pen-Hanil.
"Do you drink?"
Around the time the cold wind began to blow, Edin Molsen asked while lying sprawled on the ground. Encrid answered honestly.
"I don't have time for that."
A man more crazed for training than alcohol—that was Encrid.
"You're definitely a crazy bastard," Edin muttered.
He wasn't wrong. As Edin picked himself up, his sibling approached and asked, "Is this really the best way?"
"I believe it will be one of the best ways."
"Is that so?"
Edin gave a faint smile at his sibling's somewhat gloomy words. A smile with one eye swollen black and blue wasn't particularly charming. As the guard approached, the two fell silent. It wasn't a conversation to be had in front of the help.