Chapter 349: Quite Diligent in This Weather
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 349: Quite Diligent in This Weather
"They’re certainly diligent, working in this weather."
CRACK-BOOM!
No sooner had Encrid muttered those words than lightning tore through the sky.
"Did something come?" Krang asked.
Encrid nodded.
The weather was raging like a beast. A sudden, violent storm had swept in. It had been raining since they set out, but no one could have predicted the weather would throw such a tantrum.
At this rate, the weather might as well be friends with Ragna. Its mood swings were exactly like those of that crazy, directionally challenged bastard. It had been a sunny spring day until yesterday, and now, this sudden tempest.
"Seven ahead, ten to the left, eight to the right, and six behind," Sachsen reported.
Drum-drum-drum!
The rain showed no sign of letting up. It hammered down with enough force to gouge holes in the earth. Even though they wore oiled robes, the rain, whipped by the gale, lashed at their faces. Their cheeks stung from the impact.
The wind was fierce, too. It blew so hard it was difficult to keep one's eyes open. The rain pelting their clothes felt like blunt-tipped arrows.
Attacking in this weather? "Diligent" didn't even begin to cover it. The enemy either possessed an intense work ethic or had been dragged here against their will.
"Are your families being held hostage or something? Is that why you're out here?" Encrid raised his voice, shouting toward the front.
As he spoke, he took a step forward, the muddy road swallowing half his boot. It was the kind of day where every single step was a nuisance. Laying an ambush and attacking on a day like this? Wouldn't they catch a cold? He was genuinely curious.
Though it was called a highway, it was merely a road paved with large, flat stones. Someone had mentioned it was paved by one of Krang's ancestors, a king nicknamed "the Wise." That was why the highway was named the Royal Blessing.
It was a highway stretching from the frontier to the royal capital; as long as one followed the road, they would eventually reach the palace. This structure, with cities lined up along the road, was the very core of the Kingdom of Naurilia.
At that moment, a sudden question arose in Encrid's mind. What was wrong with Ragna, who managed to get lost even on a highway like this?
Right on cue, the genius of getting lost in any situation, Ragna, turned around.
The bastards who had taken the rear were closing in step by step. Those blocking the front were doing the same. Squinting to secure as much vision as possible, Encrid saw everything he needed to see. He spotted three or four men in armor holding shortswords, and a few others with their arms hanging loose.
The one at the front spoke—no, he shouted. His voice rang out through the sheets of rain.
"Are you mercenaries? Or the standing army? There's no need to risk your lives for this. We're only after one man!"
It was bullshit.
Except for the speaker, the momentum of the others had already shifted. Striking while talking—wasn't that a trick from the Valen-style mercenary sword techniques? The enemy was pulling a similar stunt.
Encrid tried to read the footsteps of those closing in from all sides, but gave up. You could only hear sounds if the rain fell within reason. The rain, accompanied by the howling gale, was pounding too hard to distinguish anything by ear.
"Who?" Encrid asked, already knowing the answer. As he spoke, he cupped his right hand to his ear and let his left hand hang loose.
"That is..."
The opponent trailed off. It was a speaking technique designed to make an opponent wait for the next word. Just as the leader drew their attention and focus—
Ruuuumble.
The rain above began to take a certain shape.
Ah.
Encrid was mildly impressed. So they brought a mage? They weren't half-baked opponents.
Encrid merely admired the effort. That was enough. He didn't dodge, nor did he slash with his sword. There was no need.
Sorry, but they had a mage on their side, too.
"Hmph."
Standing behind them in her human form, rather than her panther form, Esther waved her hand.
The rain, which had been about to condense into a sphere, scattered and splashed in all directions. It was a spectacular sight.
Pop!
The sound of the gathering rain bursting echoed in everyone's ears. For a brief moment, the rain pouring overhead vanished. Instead, a wind three or four times stronger than before whipped up, blasting outward from the point where the two spells collided.
Encrid dug his feet firmly into the muddy ground.
Whoosh! The howling wind threatened to blow him backward, but he braced his core and leaned forward to withstand the gale. Needless to say, everyone else held their ground. The group of assassins also quickly lowered their stances.
"A mage!" one of the opponents exclaimed.
The enemies were also clad in oiled robes. However, thanks to the sudden blast of wind, quite a few of them had their hoods blown back. Among them, the face of the man who had shouted was partially revealed. He was a middle-aged man who looked to be over fifty.
His gaze shifted to one side. He was so shocked that he didn't even think to pull his hood back up. Where his gaze landed, Esther stood, taking the falling rain with an arrogant posture. Standing tall, Esther's robe deflected the raindrops, and even the wind seemed to lose its strength as it approached her.
It was a mystical sight.
Through the refracting rain, Esther raised her hand. With her index finger and thumb extended and her other fingers curled, she aimed at the man who had shouted "A mage!" and whispered:
"Demuiller's Arrow."
The words were drowned out by the rain, unheard by anyone. The spell, formed by condensing the wind, took shape and shot forward.
"Ack!"
The enemy mage let out a sharp gasp, and—
Splat!
His head exploded.
"Die."
Esther's voice was heard clearly only after she had killed the opponent. Encrid thought that in moments like this, she should have said "He's dead" instead of "Die."
"...What in the..."
This wasn't said by the assassin leader, but muttered by the Whip Guard. Was he surprised?
I was surprised too, Encrid murmured to himself. He knew Esther was a mage, but he hadn't expected her to overwhelm the opponent so completely.
"Why are you so good at fighting?" Rem asked Esther in a casual tone.
"I've always been good at fighting."
Surprisingly, Esther didn't have a bad relationship with Rem. Since she answered so readily, Rem merely nodded.
"Good."
"Kill them all!" the assassin leader snapped out of his shock and ordered. Only then did the bastards rush in from all sides.
Had they already forgotten the failed magic? No, it was because they were well-trained. What did being well-trained mean? It meant doing what needed to be done, exactly when it needed to be done.
And that was exactly what they did.
Maintaining their encirclement, they fired poisoned daggers and crossbows. They didn't just blindly rush in.
"Ah—"
Encrid had experience escaping from places where soldiers surrounded him, the terrain deceived him, and shamans and mages joined forces to attack. Compared to that, this could hardly be called an encirclement.
Moreover, he now had Rem, Sachsen, Ragna, Dunchabel, and Esther with him. On top of that, the enemy mage's head had been blown off right from the start.
We can easily break through this with sheer force.
Encrid swung his sword the instant the thought crossed his mind. Five crossbow bolts aimed at Krang were deflected by his silver longsword.
The Whip Guard also pulled out his shield to block one side. Daggers thudded against the shield in rapid succession. The tall shield did its job perfectly.
Meanwhile, Rem plunged into the midst of the assassins like an enraged beast. The moment he charged, the assassins scattered in all directions. But as they scattered, their limbs flew through the air. It was the result of their retreat being slower than Rem's advance. Rem reached them faster than they could get away.
After his charge, Rem's axe, momentarily paused, caught Encrid's eye. It was a weapon modified at a blacksmith's.
"Make the handle this long," Rem had ordered.
His axe had a longer shaft than normal axes. If his original hand axe was only half the length of a forearm, this one was half again as long. The axe drew silent arcs through the air, severing and splitting the enemies' arms, legs, and heads. Its reach was far longer than it appeared.
"You dodged that?" Rem said, spinning around.
He saw a man who had barely managed to dodge his deliberate swing. In this kind of weather, it was difficult to wear either a gambeson or iron armor. The same went for the opponent. He wore thin leather light armor—studded armor—and held a shortsword in each hand. Tearing off his half-slipping cloak, he shouted:
"You crazy bastard!"
He looked less like an assassin and more like a mercenary confident in his own skills.
"Do you know who I am?!" he yelled.
Rem answered with his weapon. The axe wasn't the only weapon he had brought. Two throwing axes dangled from his waist, and he carried a collapsible short spear on his back. He also had short daggers tucked away in various places on his body.
One of them sliced through the rain and wind.
The moment Rem's left hand flashed, a throwing axe, spinning like a vertical disc, flew and embedded itself in the opponent's skull. The struck mercenary's legs lifted off the ground as he flew backward, crossing his swords in front of his chest. Though he had blocked in a reflex action triggered just before death, the axe was already lodged in his head.
The two swords crossed and clashed uselessly before collapsing. His arms went limp, and his body lost all strength. Flying backward, his back slammed onto the ground. The axe remained embedded in his skull like a wedge in a tree stump, asserting its presence. The pouring rain quickly washed away the blood.
Watching this, Encrid realized something. It wasn't just a matter of easily breaking through with sheer force.
They don't know.
This fact was immediately obvious. These assassins targeted Krang's neck, but they had no idea who was in the group protecting him. They had made a hasty decision, moved immediately, and rushed at high speed. The enemy must have been too busy blocking the road to weigh their options. Naturally, this was exactly what they had anticipated.
This was why Krais had said it would be advantageous to travel quickly along the highway. Though even Encrid hadn't expected them to fall for it so perfectly.
"Ugh!"
"Argh!"
A succession of screams echoed. It was from behind.
Ragna was running wild. Every time the long, thick sword in his hand moved, blood sprayed from an opponent's neck. Was it a flashy display of heavy swordsmanship? No. He killed them one by one with precise stances and thrusts.
While Rem raged and Ragna held the rear, the most excited of them all dashed forward and began to wreak havoc.
"Over here, over here! Right here!"
Dunchabel advanced, brandishing her scimitar. Kicking off the ground and flexing her thigh muscles, she dashed forward like a single streak of light. Targeting her, three of the assassins used slings. Whirling the cords and pouches over their heads, they launched handmade ammunition—round, polished stones.
Seeing that, Dunchabel's eyes rolled back in fury.
"How dare you throw such annoying things!"
All her pent-up frustration from before burst forth. Naturally, the speed and power of these stones were incomparable to those thrown by Rem himself. Dunchabel twisted her wrist as she drew her scimitar. She caught the bullets with the flat, broad side of her blade.
The expected sound of the stones smashing against the blade did not ring out. Was the sound drowned out by the storm? No. Dunchabel absorbed the incoming force of the bullets with the flat of her scimitar and deflected them.
T-t-t-ting.
It was a miraculous feat of exquisite angle adjustment. It was a spectacle born from the perfect harmony of delicacy and boldness.
Dunchabel, too...
...belonged to the category of geniuses. After all, if she weren't, there would have been no reason for Rem to keep her close and train her.
Having deflected the bullets as if brushing them aside, she lunged. If Rem looked like an enraged beast, Dunchabel was a literal beast. For she was a beastman.
Unbothered by her rain-soaked fur, Dunchabel was incredibly fast. She swung her scimitar in wide arcs to force the enemies back or slash at the bodies of the careless, then used her claws to strike and gouge their heads. Once caught by those claws, leather helmets split wide open, failing to offer any protection.
"Where did these monsters come from?!" one of the assassins cried out.
Encrid, while deflecting the crossbow bolts and daggers aimed at Krang, was busy scooping up fallen weapons with the top of his foot, catching them in his hand, and throwing them back. Right on cue, a dagger embedded itself in the forehead of the man who had just shouted.
"Ah, sorry. Were you in the middle of speaking?"
There was no further reply from the dead man. The one struck in the forehead merely lay sprawled on the ground, his limbs twitching.
The pouring rain showed no intention of letting up.
Ssssshhhhh.
CRACK-BOOM!
Another flash of light flickered in the distance, followed by the rumble of thunder. Encrid spoke casually.
"Have you always been this popular?"
The question was directed at Krang.
"I've become even more popular recently," Krang replied.
"The continent's greatest bard would envy you."
"It's merely a fleeting moment of fame."
Krang smoothly bantered back, accepting Encrid's joke. Having enjoyed poetry and writing since childhood, Krang was quite good at wordplay.
The Whip Guard wanted to ask if this was really the time for jokes, but he held his tongue. And with good reason. The battle was ending almost as soon as it had begun.
Esther, having killed the mage, stood nonchalantly beside Encrid's horse. Rem wiped out the group blocking their path by hurling a throwing axe at a fleeing enemy. The man presumed to be the leader had had his skull split open and died during the very first charge.
Was Ragna any different? The six blocking the rear had thought they could kill Ragna if they could just land a single blow. Ragna had merely made it look that way, but if they had been capable of realizing that, they would have recognized his skill at first glance. Only after dying one by one to thrusts that looked like mere practice did they realize the gap in their skills, but by then, it was far too late.
Sachsen merely stepped aside occasionally or stabbed the hearts of those seeking openings before returning to his original position. Dunchabel killed the rest.
"Hey, where are you going?!" She even threw a sorrowful shout toward a fleeing enemy.
"They're running away, obviously."
"Ah."
When Encrid pointed that out, Dunchabel let out a sigh of disappointment.
Crazy bitch.
The Whip Guard also recognized Dunchabel's identity. However, putting her madness aside, he could tell just by watching her fight that she was definitely not below him. It made sense, as Dunchabel hadn't been slacking off either. Having rolled and tumbled under Rem's tutelage, the beastman was different from when she had first fought Encrid.
But what shocked the guard most of all was the man before his eyes.
Encrid.
The man cracking jokes was deflecting incoming daggers, crossbow bolts, and sling bullets with his sword even in the midst of this tempest. It was a feat bordering on a circus trick. And he did it effortlessly. It was an astonishing talent.
Encrid realized that his sensory techniques had become far more sensitive and developed than before.
Is it thanks to the experience of being surrounded by the enemy army?
The blade of his intuition was sharper than ever. Thus, even without seeing, blocking was simply easy.
"You all fight incredibly well," Krang admired. The ground was littered with corpses, a scene of absolute slaughter.
Whether these corpses would later become ghouls or Drowners—monsters said to be born only in rivers or heavy rain—was not something to worry about right now.
"Then, let's set off again."
Encrid merely led the group in silence. Since they had dealt with the threat, it was time to move.