Chapter 298: I Won't Back Down, Starting with My Words
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 298: I Won't Back Down, Starting with My Words
"That son of a bitch. I can finally move a bit."
Rem spat a curse at an opponent who wasn't there and forced himself up.
His ribs were a wreck and his ankle groaned with every step, but...
I’m definitely going to kill you.
His body was in good enough shape for that much. It wasn't like he was planning to get in close and wrestle the man to the ground.
Besides, if he delayed any longer, that bastard would either be killed by someone else or end up killing someone himself.
Rem didn't give a damn if the stray cat, the lazybones, the giants, or the beastmen died, but the Captain was a different story.
It’d be a damn shame if he kicked the bucket just yet.
It would be a waste for a lunatic whose only dream was to become a knight to die in a place like this. Watching him run wild and struggle was entertaining enough—at least for now. Rem was genuinely curious to see if the fellow would actually manage to become a knight.
Well, it’s not like he’d die easily anyway.
But the matchup was bad. A poor pairing, so to speak.
If they clashed now, the Captain’s chances of dying were high. His probability of losing was even higher, which was why Rem had to deal with the bastard himself.
Above all, that bastard who was so obsessed with avoiding old age that he was called the Immortal Madman would be wary of him.
He won't run wild recklessly after letting me slip away.
He wouldn't dare. He’d be too busy looking over his shoulder, knowing he’d be struck the moment he showed an opening.
With those thoughts, Rem scanned his surroundings. Fortunately, he spotted a suitable tree. He stripped the bark, rubbed and wove it with both hands, and twisted it into a long, sturdy rope.
He repeated the process over and over.
When hunger gnawed at him, he caught and ate snakes or badgers. Along the way, he was lucky enough to stumble upon a bear that hadn't gone into hibernation yet.
To others, it would be a ferocious beast, but to Rem...
"Well, look at that. A lucky find."
...it was just high-quality meat and a sturdy hide.
Whoosh.
He tossed his sole remaining axe into the air, caught it, and hurled it forward with all his might. The axe flew with a sharp whistle and embedded itself directly into the bear's skull, splitting it clean in half.
Hit by the projectile, the bear's massive frame tottered before collapsing with a heavy thud. The ground vibrated; the beast was nearly as massive as Audin.
He wanted to skin the bear and wear its hide, but he didn't have the luxury of tanning it, and his ribs still ached. He couldn't afford to waste energy on such labor.
So, after killing the bear, he ripped out its gallbladder and swallowed it raw, quenched his thirst with its blood, and then roasted the meat. It smelled terribly gamey, but he didn't have a choice.
He cut a section of the hide into a square, layered it two or three times, and poked holes in the corners. The axe he had fashioned by cutting down the Centaur Leader's halberd was even more useful at times like this. He had left the sharp spearhead protruding above the axe head for weight, and it proved highly practical for punching holes in the leather.
Then, he threaded the bark rope he had made through the holes. He trimmed the long, dangling ends to about the span of his outstretched arms.
He picked it up and swung it around in the air a few times. Not bad.
Meanwhile, he carried the venom he had gathered from the snakes in a makeshift pouch. After that, he gathered several stones of similar size. He used the bear and snake skins to make pouches and fashioned a bag to wear over his body—a sling bag style that draped diagonally from his shoulder.
Labor, pure labor.
It had been a while since he had worked up such a sweat. Even though it was winter, sweat poured down his forehead. Only then did he look for a stream.
He absolutely loathed the cold, but if he left his body in this state, he would fall ill. Cleanliness was fundamental.
Rem built a fire and took a deep breath.
“Whew. Here goes.”
It was a task that required resolve. As he dipped his toes into the freezing water, a violent shiver ran through his entire body.
Ah, that fucking bastard.
The colder it got, the more his hostility grew. He pictured the man who had pushed him to this point. It was all because of that motherfucker, the Immortal Madman.
I will definitely kill him. I'll beat him to death like a dog.
His grudge deepened infinitely the longer he soaked in the icy water. Gritting his teeth, he washed himself, crushed some silk grass to smear over his wounds, and warmed himself by the campfire.
Chatter-chatter-chatter.
His jaw trembled. His teeth clattered relentlessly. Rem possessed abnormal physical might, but that didn't mean he was immune to the cold.
I should have accepted the sorcery.
At times like this, he felt a pang of regret. It was so damn cold. If he had inherited even a fraction of the sorcery, he wouldn't be freezing like this.
But there was nothing he could do about it now.
Rem endured, clutching his heating stone. Once his body dried and he wrapped himself in the thermal leather again, he finally felt like he could breathe.
Wow, I am definitely going to kill you.
His grudge remained unchanged. If anything, it had grown deeper.
His preparations were complete.
Rem headed toward the main camp. He wasn't Ragna; retracing his steps was child's play, and tracking trails was one of his specialties. Gradually, the battle cries and the clamor of war reached his ears.
Estimating the distance and assessing the situation, he emerged from the forest and approached the battlefield at a brisk pace.
The place was crawling with demonic beasts. Red-eyed wolves glared at him. A few of them growled, trying to intimidate him before lunging. A mix of wild energy and demonic energy radiated from them—their entire bodies were the definition of ferocity.
It was a sight that would terrify ordinary people or even trained soldiers. But not Rem.
“Piss off.”
Rem unleashed his intimidation. It was different from what an associate knight would show, but it crushed the surrounding atmosphere in a similar fashion. He made his presence known through sheer momentum.
Overwhelmed by his aura, a few demonic beasts hesitated, but they didn't run. Rem kept walking, swinging his axe with movements refined to the absolute minimum.
Vertical, horizontal, diagonal.
With three brief swings, four demonic beasts were sliced apart. Not three, but four—his second horizontal swing had caught two heads at once.
Having dispatched the beasts, the very man he was looking for came into view. The guy who made javelins float in midair.
Rem had long since figured out the trick behind that gimmick.
The man was wrapping elastic threads around the javelins. It was a thread that didn't exist in the West. Honestly, what kind of nonsense was it to mimic a descent weapon with such cheap tricks? That was why Rem hadn't recognized it at first glance.
Of course, now that he had figured it out, he also understood his opponent's personality and fighting style. There was always a reason when someone stepped forward with such confidence. That weapon was the man's greatest strength and his greatest weakness. At least, that was Rem's assessment.
The bastard only learned parlor tricks on the continent.
Because the thread was practically invisible at a glance, it made the weapons look as though they were floating.
“Hey!”
Rem called out. The man, who had been charging forward, spun around. His head tilted, his pupils dilating.
That bastard ran away like a scalded dog when I chased him, and now he's walked right back on his own?
His expression said exactly that.
“You're dead,” Rem said.
The Immortal Madman let out an absurd smirk on his face, which looked half-young and half-old. He had been about to rush forward because the wolf bishop looked like he was on the verge of defeat.
A few fanatics nearby noticed Rem and lunged.
“Infidel!”
“For the Lord!”
The axe in Rem's right hand moved again. With two swift swings, two heads soared into the air.
The Madman's eyes narrowed, analyzing Rem's movements. There was no way he had fully recovered from his injuries in this short time. Had he sharpened his axe blade separately? It was incredibly keen.
The Immortal Madman stopped in his tracks, his absurd smirk still plastered on his face. Then he turned around. One of the wolf bishop's strengths was his stubborn vitality; he wouldn't die easily. While the bishop held out, the Madman would deal with this nuisance first. He couldn't fight with his back exposed, after all.
A few fanatics watched warily. No matter how they looked at it, Rem was not an opponent they could handle.
Rem stroked his ribs and checked the condition of his ankle. He tapped his toes on the ground and rotated his foot. Not bad.
“You've come to die,” the Immortal Madman said.
“Yeah, I came to kill you,” Rem replied, refusing to back down even in words.
*
The Immortal Madman floated a javelin in the air. To an onlooker, it would seem like pure mystery.
Sorcery was what they called magic in the West. One had to be capable of at least this much to claim they had inherited a lineage of sorcery.
Of course...
“Hey, that's not even a descent weapon, is it?”
Once you saw through the trick, it didn't look all that impressive.
“Crazy bastard.”
Rem's senior from his homeland denied it, throwing the javelin as he spoke.
Even if the thread was invisible, tracking its movement wasn't difficult if you understood the principle. At least, not for Rem. An invisible thread was pulling the javelin forward; it had to be connected to the man's forearm or fingers.
Clang!
As Rem deflected the spearhead with his axe, a sharp throb shot through his flank. When Rem lowered his stance as if to charge, the Madman drew a second javelin.
He didn't stop there. The javelins multiplied. From two to three, and three to four. He floated all the javelins he carried on his back.
Quite a trick. Sly bastard.
Rem added the throbbing pain in his flank to his mental list of grudges. Even though the pain came from blocking, it was all because of that bastard.
“Die, half-wit.”
Four javelins, bear-like forearms, and leopard-like legs. Just because Rem hadn't inherited the sorcery didn't mean he couldn't recognize it. It was the mark of spirit possession. The Madman had sublimated his javelin-handling skills into an art infused with sorcery.
“You son of a bitch, poking at me from a distance.”
When Rem offered his mix of admiration and mockery for his senior's technique, the Madman sneered. The half-wit had terrible combat instincts. He was stupid, too.
Had the caliber of Western warriors declined? Perhaps. He had killed too many decent fighters when he left. Aside from that, they had spilled too much of their own blood fighting amongst themselves.
In any case...
If you wanted to win, you should have closed the distance.
That was what he should have done. Of course, the Madman had prepared for that scenario as well. Rem was a guy who couldn't block even two javelins in their previous fight. This current distance, within fifteen paces, was the perfect range for his javelins to display their full potential.
In other words, the Immortal Madman had never lost a fight like this.
Rem slowly backed away. The Madman watched him. It was even better if he got a bit further away; the attack range of his thread-bound javelins exceeded twenty paces.
Not a descent weapon? You fool. Through experience and training, my javelins have become a divine instrument surpassing any descent weapon.
The Madman was confident of his victory. The four javelins moved in response to the threads attached to his fingers.
Thrum, thrum.
Flying lightly, two javelins hovered to the left and right of his head, and two to the left and right of his forearms—a total of four javelins dancing in the air. As the javelins drifted back and forth, they almost seemed to twitch with anticipation, eager to fly out and pierce the opponent's body.
To think he dares challenge me without even using sorcery.
The Immortal Madman was a wanderer who had spent his entire life searching for a way to escape death. Indeed, his actual age was well over a hundred. He had acquired quite a few things during that time. The weapons that had now become his favorites were also thanks to a portion of the sorcery he had obtained in the past.
Though the process of engraving sorcery onto the threads had been grueling... behold. It had become a weapon capable of pressuring and killing opponents no less effectively than a descent weapon.
Rem quietly observed his opponent.
That bastard thinks he's already won.
He was certain of victory. He was letting his guard down, believing this distance was his exclusive domain.
“Tsk, you dumbass.”
With those words, Rem pulled out the weapon he had prepared.
There was no sorcery, nor were there any invisible threads. But if he could launch a projectile ten times faster than his opponent's javelins using pure physical strength alone, then this distance was his domain as well.
What he pulled out was a weapon made of twisted bear hide and bark rope. It was a device called a sling.
Rem took a stone from the makeshift leather bag slung across his body, placed it on the leather pouch of the sling, and began to spin it. The leather pouch, which had been whirring around his shoulder, arm, and hand, shifted above his head.
Driven by centrifugal force, the sling holding the stone formed a spinning disc above Rem's head.
Whirrrrrrrr!
The noise echoed as if tearing through the air. To Rem, the sling was a toy he had played with since childhood. It was a weapon he was intimately familiar with. Therefore, there was no way he would miss.
He aimed and snapped his arm forward. The stone, its destructive power multiplied by centrifugal force, went flying. Even Rem's eyes couldn't properly track the projectile. In fact, there was no way anyone present could have seen it clearly.
“Huh?!”
Startled, the Madman hastily aligned his four javelins vertically to form a wall. It was a display of instantaneous wit and judgment. What's more, he was lucky.
Crash!
The flying stone collided directly with the spearheads. The fist-sized stone shattered into dozens of fragments, raining down on the Madman's body. The stone shards struck his thick leather armor and scattered.
“You lunatic!”
The Madman's hands moved frantically. That single strike had pushed his wall of javelins back with a violent jolt. A simple stone, propelled by monstrous strength, had displayed a power far greater than sorcery.
No, was this even possible? With just a single stone, no matter how skilled he was? This wasn't something that could be achieved through raw strength alone. It was literally a divine feat that could not be performed unless one wielded the sling as naturally as their own hand. How could anyone throw a stone with such accuracy at that speed?
While he was still reeling from the shock of blocking it...
Whirrrrrrrr!
...a second disc spun above Rem's head. The terrifying noise assaulted his ears.
“What are you staring at?”
Along with his words, the second stone flew.
The Madman lowered his body. In response, the javelins scattered to the left and right, hovering low. Even if Rem could aim, it would be difficult to hit him if he stayed low.
On top of that, he threw two of the spearheads. The spearheads skimmed along the ground. It was a javelin-throwing technique that surged from the bottom up, known as 'Dragonfly Wing'. He had thrown two javelins, leaving the other two to protect his body just in case.
The Immortal Madman—a moniker earned because he neither aged nor wished to die. To him, his own body was more precious than anything else.
Rem deflected the incoming javelins with his axe. It was different from before. He parried and deflected them with minimal movement. It was an axe technique close to a soft sword style.
Originally, Jeong-Jung-Hwan-Kwae-Yu was a technique for handling weapons in general, not limited to swordsmanship. However, the art of deflecting didn't quite suit Rem's usual style.
“Where did you learn such parlor tricks?” the Madman muttered.
“There's this guy. A bastard who deflects my axe in front of me every single day,” Rem said.
Rem was a genius. It was a technique he had seen dozens of times right before his eyes, used against him. There was no reason he couldn't master it. He just hadn't bothered to show it until now because he had no reason to make it his primary style. Right now, he had only brought it out to defend himself with minimal movement.
If it were four javelins, it might be different, but he had blocked two before. It was too weak to be a threat, especially since it was an attack he had already experienced once.
After easily deflecting the two javelins...
Whirrrrrrrr!
...the third disc spun.
The Madman's face turned pale. Because no matter how great the strength of a bear or how fast a leopard was, it felt as though nothing could ever be faster or stronger than that single stone.
Rem had sized up the outcome of the battle from the very beginning. Was there any reason to engage in close combat while covered in injuries? None. The fact that his opponent was an idiot also played a part.
Tsk, you dumbass.
If they had fought up close, risking half their lives, the outcome would have been uncertain. In the first place, the bear's arms and leopard's legs were spirit possessions meant for exactly that kind of combat.
Yet, what was he doing? Was he personally demonstrating what it meant to be a fool?
If the Madman had steeled his resolve, closed the distance, and held the javelins in his hands to swing and throw them, the outcome would have been unpredictable. If he had rushed forward to close the distance, even at the cost of an arm, it wouldn't have been easy to hit him with a sling—especially since the guy possessed the legs of a leopard.
Instead, the opponent cherished his own body too much and was busy only with blocking. He kept his distance, fighting like a shy little kid. No, even a child from the West wouldn't fight like that. A madman who had lived for too long and possessed too much, rendering him unable to sacrifice anything.
The victory was decided by the difference in their mindsets.
Ah, what an idiot.
If it had been Encrid, he would have charged, risking his life.
His opponent was a half-wit. A half-wit who had forgotten how to truly fight.
“To a half-wit who can't even use sorcery!”
The Madman roared in anger, but it was a bluff. That wasn't anger; it was fear.
Encrid never showed fear under any circumstances. He was a pilgrim moving forward, a wanderer who never stopped walking, a nomad searching for a signpost. And thus, he was also a madman walking his own path.
“You're not cut out for this,” Rem said. The comparison was simply too stark.
The bastard blocked the third stone by aligning his javelins once again. From the impact, stone dust and sleet collided in midair, forming a bizarre gray vortex before vanishing.
Whirrrrrrrr!
He spun the fourth disc. Snap!
But before it could reach full speed, the rope snapped. It was a weapon meant to withstand Rem's strength, and with centrifugal force added to boot. This was only natural.
As the broken rope dangled to the side, delight replaced the fear in the Madman's eyes.
“Foolish bastard! A great weapon is also part of one's strength! To challenge me with such a pathetic tool! Hahaha!”
What is he blabbering about?
Leaving the ecstatic bastard to his delusions, Rem pulled a second sling from his chest. Did the idiot really think Rem hadn't anticipated the rope snapping?
The diagonal sling bag was packed with stones. And he had at least five more slings of the exact same design tucked in his chest.
Still, it lasted for three shots.
He had expected it to snap after only two throws.
“Huh? Huh? You have more?”
The Madman's eyes trembled.
“Dumbass,” Rem sneered.